The Sides That Bind
by TheSurprisedSlytherin
Summary: As far as Heidi Zabini's concerned, Draco Malfoy is everything wrong with the Pureblooded elite that her surname pushed her into. But the summer has been about as kind to Malfoy as he's been to her, and the school year seems no better. Little by little, Heidi can't help but try to keep him afloat. However, there's that minor matter of reversing 16 years of damage between them...
1. The Ghost of the Growing Boy

a/n:

 **Ages ago at the tender age of 12, I began working on this little gem, fully under the impression that it was a revolutionary piece of literature. Suffice to say, it was more like those obligatory fridge pictures that your mom put up from Art class. Fast forward a good few years and I am now older (and 0% wiser, despite dishing out thousands in tuition fees). However, I've never quite been able to shake this story no matter how much I've tried over the years. There remains only one option – grab a cup of tea, turn on that angsty teen music, and put it through a total rewrite. Hopefully, you come along for the ride! :)**

 **Anything you recognize belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling, as always.**

 **Feedback is welcome and appreciated!**

 **(Also, I'm trying desperately to stick to U.K. style of speech for the sake of authenticity, but as a Canadian that's never even been to the U.K. that's a wee bit … difficult ;). Hopefully it doesn't end up too much of a cultural mess!)**

 **~ Anna**

* * *

It had been a perfectly smooth August day in the Zabini household, which, now that I think about it, should have served as an indication that my life was about to go exceptionally sour. As I sat, polishing my broomstick in my unnecessarily large bedroom, a menu was thrust under my nose.

"Heidi, darling, I need your advice." My mother never used that phrase to preface a situation that actually warranted advice, and this time was no different. "What do you think would feed a growing boy best? I'm between lobster and Kobe steaks. I got the house elf to write both on here, but I'm not sure if one is better."

I blinked. "Growing boy? I don't understand, Mum … who's the 'growing boy' in this scenario? Did you make friends with some family I'll hate again?" I asked hurriedly. "They better not be anything like the other ones or I'm not coming downstairs." I had in mind a certain clan of blonds that I could have stood to un-meet. "Just make something normal for dinner, can't you? Like soup. Soup's a classic."

"Soup is an _appetizer_ ," my mother moaned. I had clearly threatened her perception of justice in the world of dinner parties.

"Not if you use the big bowls," I pointed out smartly.

She sighed and retracted the menu. "No one in this house is of any use - I may as well ask my own reflection. Blaise, for one, told me to serve hamburgers."

"What can I say, Mother? At least it's an entrée," I remarked as I went back to polishing my Cleansweep Seven. I could practically feel her purse her lips behind me, but before I could turn to look, she had stormed out of my room with high heels clacking.

I sighed and put the broom aside. The last thing I needed before my friends came over was an angry Estella Zabini. I opened my bedroom door to go after her, and came to face a ghost emerging from the hallway fireplace. Frozen on the spot, I watched the pallid figure - too tall for its face to be visible - make its way out of the Floo system. A closer look put a stopper to my fear. Draco Malfoy stood with his back to me, brushing himself free of what I assumed was soot. Mistaking him for a ghost hadn't been that far off – he looked like he'd lost about twenty-five pounds and half a personality.

Without even a look in my direction, he disappeared into my brother's room. It wasn't until I saw our house-elf Roley struggle along with his trunk that I realized what was going on. My stomach plummeted. He was here to stay.

I burst into Blaise's room without hesitation, wincing as my foot flew into his heavy painted armoire.

 _Note to self: hesitation is good sometimes._

The two looked up from their conversation, where I was sure they had been mulling over something morally reprehensible as usual. I pointed to the offending party.

"He can't be here!"

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Give it a rest, Heidi."

My frustration escalated. "Did I stutter? _I said he can't be here!_ "

"You're being an id-"

"No, Blaise, why don't you let her talk." Malfoy turned his full attention to me, looking extra vicious. I was one of the lucky few females at Hogwarts that he'd ever shown his natural range of facial expressions to: smirking, sneering, and scowling (Merlin only knows what he showed the other girls, but I'm guessing it wasn't his face). "Go on, Pointless Zabini. Tell me why I can't be here. I'll pretend to give something close to a damn, but no guarantees."

"You can't be here because my friends are coming tomorrow, _Ferret,_ " I said through gritted teeth.

He leaned in menacingly, and I was ashamed to say that his newfound gauntness was scaring me. "Well then you better cancel your little club meeting unless you want Potty to become the Boy Who Died."

My nostrils flared. In an effort to keep all of my screaming inside, I turned on my heel and left.

Our home, unlike Malfoy's, was modern and bright. I usually prided myself on the fact that visitors didn't need a copy of The Idiot's Guide to Exorcisms every time they set foot inside; the same definitely couldn't be said of Malfoy Manor. But for some reason, the blinding white floors and skylights irritated me that day as they channeled warmth and light on my surroundings. I felt they were making a mockery of the truth.

"Heidi, dear, has Draco come? I heard a commotion."

My mother appeared in the doorway of a bedroom nearby. I stormed towards her.

"You told me I could _finally_ have Harry, Ron and Hermione over, and then you go and invite _him!_ Is this some kind of joke, Mother? Because I don't appreciate it – not even a little!"

Her brown eyes snapped sharply to mine. "You mind that tone! If Draco is here, it is because he needs to be. You do not get to question the guests I have in my house. You can owl those friends of yours and tell them you'll have them over next time."

I crossed my arms and tried not to cry from the frustration – a frustration that had already begun building at the sight of Malfoy's face. "You're only doing this because you hate my friends, aren't you?"

Her face softened. She brushed a strand of brown hair from my cheek. "You know that's only half-true," she said with a smile. "Though, now that we're on the topic, I would _really_ rather you stay away from those Gryffindors this year. Especially after the fiasco at the Ministry. Your father's friends are still giving him trouble for that, you know."

I pushed her hand away, unready to make nice. "It's his own fault for making friends with creeps like Ortwin Nott and Lucius Malfoy."

"If it weren't for those 'creeps' doing business with him, you'd be living in a broom cupboard instead of this house," she reminded me sternly. She gave a pleading sigh. "I know you and Lucius' boy have issues getting along, and that's fine. But I have to ask you to watch your tongue with Draco for the length of his stay."

I crossed my arms, affronted. "It isn't _my_ tongue that throws the word mudblood around as if it's a normal thing for someone with a soul to say!"

My mother opened her mouth to talk, then gave up and walked away, leaving me standing in the guest room. I sighed and fell into a white leather armchair. The linens had been changed, the bookcase had been filled, and the room was made to smell faintly of orange blossom. Only one thing made it unlivable, and he had snuck up right behind me.

"Get out."

I squeaked and brought a hand over my pounding heart. "Would it kill you not to snarl from behind me?" I looked Malfoy up and down. Bitter realization hit. " _You're_ the growing boy that my mother was talking about! The one we're having over for dinner!"

He ignored me and hung his grey travelling cloak on a hook by the dresser. It was then that I noticed a strange absence of Narcissa, who was always insisting that he wear the 'warmer green one' even in summer, each time leaving me puzzled about how someone could coo so obsessively over Draco Malfoy.

"Go mope about missing your mudblood friends in your own room," he drawled.

I ignored his request. "Where's your mum?"

Malfoy's eyes flashed viciously, and before I could take a breath in, I found myself the victim of a Hurtling Jinx that sent me out the door and across the hallway.

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"Wine, dear?"

"Wouldn't kill me," I said darkly, fingers clenched around a fork with a carved, pointed handle that had played many a part in my revenge fantasies.

"I wasn't offering it to you, Heidi," tutted my mother. In my peripheral vision, I saw her shake her head and pour Chardonnay into my father's glass. Peripheral vision was all I could give her. My eyes were glued to Malfoy, who my brother was trying to appease through some stupid lie about a Hufflepuff he beat in a duel. Couldn't he tell that the ferret wasn't even bothering to listen?

Twins though Blaise and I were, I considered us the anti-Fred and George. We were in opposing Hogwarts houses, on opposing Quidditch teams, with opposing priorities and opposing (or in his case _oppositional_ ) friends. Though it had never been quite so bad until the Prince of Bullshit got himself involved. Draco Malfoy had, in a nutshell, voted me out of the rich kid repertoire at the tender age of eleven and my brother hadn't offered a peep of an argument. Now, at sixteen, I was frequently found clutching steak knives at fancy dinners and trying desperately to use them only on the steak.

"So have you had a chance to get your books, Draco?" asked my mother with a tense smile.

"Yes, Mrs. Zabini."

"Wonderful. Though if you need anything else, we would gladly accompany you since your mother … cannot."

I frowned. I didn't think the day would come that Narcissa Malfoy didn't take her son to Diagon Alley before school and threaten to buy him anything they laid eyes on. "Is she alright?"

"She's fine, Heidi, eat your dinner," said my father impatiently.

"That's convincing," I murmured as I reached for a second steak. Malfoy watched me with badly masked judgement. "I'm not going to eat all of it!" I snapped.

He shrugged at me, as if he hadn't noticed a thing. "I'm not surprised Potter has you on some sort of regimen, since your Quidditch team has to rely on brawn now instead of tactic."

I snorted, piling some peas, potatoes and chocolates on my plate amid my mother's protests. "And what does Slytherin rely on when they fly? Because I saw _your_ captain, Malfoy, and he looks even thicker than you-"

"Heidi!" squeaked my mother. I could officially be considered a disruption in decorum. "I'm sorry, Draco, she's a bit excitable these days after she got her exam results back. She's not sure if she'll get into N.E.W.T. level Herbology next year, you see."

"MUM! Don't tell people I failed Herbology!"

"Well she got Os on everything else!" she said quickly.

Malfoy looked ready to file this away into the 'Crap I Don't Care About' part of his brain, which, if I had to take a guess, constituted about 99%.

"I hear you did wonderfully last year too, Draco," my mother went on.

Malfoy shrugged and took a sip of wine, leaving me to wonder how that kid got his hands on wine in the first place. "I did alright."

"Lucius must be proud," said my father.

I bit my tongue and unwrapped a chocolate. My opinion on Lucius Malfoy – especially after our run in at the Department of Mysteries – was... disagreeable. At least to this crowd.

For the first time in a long one, Malfoy looked embarrassed. "Yeah. I guess he is."

"I wrote to him in Azkaban just last week, actually. He said the food there is more ghastly than the Dementors themselves. But he's a slippery chap, your father. He'll be out in no time."

The expression on Malfoy's face put a drop of sympathy in my blood.

"Dad, subject change. _Now._ "

My father looked at me as if I'd pulled him out of a daze. "Did I say something wrong?"

I shook my head at him and went back to my peas and chocolates, somewhat aware that Malfoy was staring at me with ill-hidden loathing.

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"MALFOY! I COULD HAVE BEEN IN THE BATH!" I bellowed as he strode into the bathroom. It was accessible through two doors – one in my room and one in the guest bedroom. This was a welcome arrangement when my cousin Ceana came to visit, since we could sneak into each other's rooms to cause trouble undetected. It was less welcome when I had Malfoy bursting in on me as toothpaste foam dripped down my chin.

"Funny, I never pegged you as someone who bathes."

He reached around me (into my drawer, might I add) and produced a bottle of cologne. I hated that thing. Maybe it was a Pavlovian effect – every time I smelled amber and spice, I was sure to experience something that made me feel like garbage. Today was no exception.

"Feeling sympathetic again, Zabini?" he muttered as he straightened his dark green tie.

"What?"

"You know, about my sad, imprisoned father and my alcoholic mother," said Malfoy scathingly.

I stared at him in the mirror as everything came into place. "I – I didn't know. Not about your mother." I turned until we were facing each other. He looked down at me cautiously. I was too shocked by the news to realize just how close we were standing – I could clearly smell the amber, and see the flecks of ocean in his gray eyes. "I am _so_ sorry," I said with a tremor in my voice. "Where is she right now? Is she alright?"

"St. Mungo's," he grumbled.

"Was there some sort of accid-"

"What the hell do you care?" Malfoy snarled. I jumped back. "You and your Gryffindor losers are the reason any of this is happening. Now you get to act the heroes and pretend like you give a shit. Oh, how the mighty have fallen, right? I'm sure you feel so _very_ sorry."

I stiffened. For some reason, him spitting on the small truce I tried to offer had hurt me more than usual. "About your father? I don't feel sorry at all. Let's face it, he's where he belongs."

For a second, I thought he was going for his wand. Instead he bent down until he was practically staring through me. "Good. Don't feel sorry. Because the mighty will be out soon, and when they are, I'll be sure to pass your name along."

"What for?" I said, trying to sound as cold as him. "I didn't put them in Azkaban. Their own stupidity did."

His eyes glinted savagely. I crossed my arms, trying to look unfazed as all six feet of him towered over me with an eight inch advantage. "You gonna hit me?" I was never comfortable with his long, pointed pauses or his vindictive expressions. Whatever he was planning, I wanted him to get it over with.

To my surprise, he straightened up and turned to leave.

I softened a little. "Hey … Malfoy …"

"What?" he snapped.

"Your mother … I didn't know about her um … problem. I really am sorry."

He laughed insultingly. "Well as long as you're 'sorry'."

Looking more put out than ever, he left.


	2. FWOT

a/n:

 **Hey guys! I wanna start off by giving a huge thanks to everyone who took the time to read the first chapter, and to those that favourited and followed! You guys are awesome. =D**

 **Second order of business: how often I'll be posting/updating. I generally have 2 chapters written ahead of the one I put up, so there shouldn't be a horrible lag. Having said that, I just started my year at uni, as I'm sure many of you have also. Two words: Full Courseload (and Biochemistry ain't looking too hot, at least in terms of time commitment). However, I'm aiming for a chapter/week (or two weeks) as the worst-case scenario.**

* * *

I didn't see Malfoy for the rest of the day, not even when it was time to leave for the Hogwarts Express. He had apparently gathered his things and left for King's Cross on his own, having rejected my parents' offer to bring him along with us.

"Hey, Heidi!"

I looked up from my novel to see Harry smiling at me in the compartment doorway.

"Harry! Where are Ron and Hermione?" I asked, eagerly making a place for him. Not that I had to try much – Blaise had abandoned me the minute we boarded the train as usual, and I was sitting in the compartment alone.

Harry shrugged. "They'll be around. They're probably enforcing rules somewhere or other. Well, Hermione is; Ron'll be trying to snog her."

"And Ginny?" I asked, wondering why he was without his girlfriend.

"I think she's with Luna."

A comfortable quiet came over us as the countryside rolled by, and I returned to my novel.

"Sucks that we couldn't come over," said Harry, who was always thankful for a reason to leave his aunt and uncle, and their equally doltish offspring.

I put my book down in a huff. I'd completely forgotten about the letters I had to send to my friends because of Malfoy's visit. "I know. I'm so sorry, Harry, I had no idea he was coming. He just shows up, as if he lives there or something!"

"Well your family likes the Malfoys, don't they?"

If I had to name the single most unnecessary thing my family ever did, it would be that. I looked down, feeling awkward.

"It doesn't mean anything about _you_ ," said Harry quickly. "I mean, you don't get to pick your family life. If you could, I don't reckon I'd have spent my summers with the Dursleys."

"Guess not, huh?" I said with a sad smile.

"It's like Hermione said, about you being sort of like ..." His resolve waivered a little.

"Like Sirius," I finished, remembering very well the conversation we'd had two years prior, after Malfoy and my brother called my friends something abhorrent, and I was so upset about it that I couldn't even punch them through the tears.

"Yeah."

"Maybe," I admitted. "But that doesn't make seeing Malfoy over holidays any easier. Though I only did see him for like four days this entire summer."

"I doubt you'll be seeing him much for the train ride, either," said Ron as he appeared in the compartment. Hermione was at his side, looking frizzier than usual with the buttons on her blouse misaligned. I gave her a knowing smile before Ron's words sank in.

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, he's just sitting around his compartment, sulking."

"Alone?" I asked. This had never been the way he spent his journeys on the Express; he was a fan of popping by fairly steadily to try out new ways of being a git.

"No, Parkinson's with him," said Ron. "But he's completely ignoring her, which is hilarious because we had to dock them about a hundred points last year for being three steps away from fuc-"

" _Ron!_ " gasped Hermione. "Don't call it that!"

Ron shrugged and sat down.

"He'll come to give us a hard time soon, regardless," I predicted. "And within the hour, I bet. I know him. He lives for this crap."

But by the time the train had hit Scotland, it became clear that I didn't know him at all.

"Oh look!" said Hermione happily as she held up a copy of the Daily Prophet that she found under the seat. "A few Death Eaters are due to get the Kiss this year. It looks like Malfoy's father is one of them."

"Maybe that's what's got his knickers in a twist," commented Ron.

Harry leaned in and squinted at the front page. "That paper's three days old, Hermione."

I furrowed my eyebrows, feeling like this held some sort of significance that I couldn't quite put together. And then I did.

"That's why he came."

"What?" asked Harry, turning to me.

"That's why he came to our house all of a sudden. He must have read the news about his dad."

A small booklet fell out of the newspaper and into Hermione's lap. "No, Heidi, I don't think that's fully the reason. Look." She held up the booklet, which looked like a cheap tabloid magazine.

"The Fall of House Malfoy," I read out. "Follow along on my journey to discover the whos and whats that have dirtied the name of the oldest and purest."

The Malfoy family crest was in the center, but their motto – Sanctimonia Vincet Semper – had been replaced with 'Get the Dirt'. In the lower corner was a picture of a nasty face behind jewel-encrusted glasses: Rita Skeeter, our 'favourite' journalist.

I took the booklet from Hermione's hands and turned to the first page.

 _Narcissa Malfoy: Slave to the Bottle?_

 _Narcissa Malfoy, wife to the infamous Death Eater, Lucius, was taken away to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries on Thursday, August 28_ _th_ _. She had apparently overindulged in wine of her own family's apothecary to such an extent that her own son – Draco Malfoy, age 16 - had found her minutes from the beyond, in a pool of her own sick. Even when her frail frame was dragged to the front desk of St. Mungo's, Narcissa denied having a problem. But her barely lucid statements, along with her son's quiet insistence that she be admitted to the newly established rehabilitation program, cemented her detainment in the Wizarding hospital._

 _"_ _This is fairly typical of a closeted alcoholic," says one esteemed Healer, who shall remain nameless. "Then again, if I were in the tizzy the Malfoys are in, I'd have drank twice what she had."_

 _The manor in which the incident took place is due to be searched within the-_

Indignation surged through me as I threw the magazine on the floor. "That's horrible! That Healer is _horrible!_ How could you say such things, let alone publish them? Of course _Skeeter_ wrote this drivel. What a pathetic, dried up woman with a pathetic, dried up career."

Ron snorted at my sympathy. "Taste of Malfoy's own medicine, as far as I'm concerned. Remember Fourth Year when he told Skeeter all that crap about us and got it published?"

"Hard to forget," said Harry coldly.

Admittedly, it was.

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"Feast looks brilliant this year!" exclaimed Ron as he made piles on his plate of everything he could get his hands on. I happily joined him, until a kick from Hermione sent us both yelping. "Mione, what'd you do that for?" Ron wailed.

She pointed to the staff table, where Dumbledore had stood up. His damask-patterned robes were glimmering particularly brightly this year. He brought a wand to his throat to act as an amplifier, and in doing so, exposed a mummified hand. Hastily, the headmaster adjusted his sleeve.

"Welcome, welcome, welcome back! I would normally withhold my announcements until you've had your bellies sufficiently filled, but I've an extraordinary amount to say in an extraordinarily small amount of time. If you wish to nibble as I speak, I assure you no offense will be taken."

It was enough of an invitation for Ron, but I refrained. This seemed too important.

"The world both here and outside these walls is changing with each second that goes by. We have come marvelously far, and yet have regressed profoundly all at once. With the world, this school must change, and we within it must grow. Two things are always asked from us in troubling times like these. The first is love, as we all know. And the second? Skill, my children. Pure skill. That is why for the first time in a very long one, the Ministry has decided to narrow our focus, shrink our classrooms, and bring together friends and rivals both."

At this most troubling thought, I spared a glance at Malfoy. He was looking at Dumbledore with skeptical disgust – and I at him.

"I ask our Sixth and Seventh Years to step on the journey to unity, and become role models to those malleable young minds that look up to them. A meeting on the subject will be held later tonight, once everyone has had a chance to get cozy in their common rooms." His blue eyes swept over our table. "My deepest regrets to our Gryffindor students. Your common room, due to an unforeseen Permanent Flame Charm, has been relocated to the dungeons. But never fear; I am sure our Slytherin house will be more than happy to help you make the best of your new home."

Ron choked on a turkey leg and I felt pretty glad that I'd avoided the same fate by ceasing to eat when I did.

"Now you must all tuck in and eat away." Dumbledore smiled and stepped down.

"Eat what away?" groaned Ron after Harry gave him a hard thump on the back. "Our misery?" He pointed his stripped-down turkey leg at the Headmaster's chair, which now stood empty; Dumbledore had left the Hall. "He's really bending it with the inter-house unity rubbish this year."

"He wouldn't have to if you didn't throw things at Malfoy every chance you got," reprimanded Hermione.

I had taken to making patterns in my mashed potatoes, and grew increasingly distracted by it.

"Me? I only did it seven times last year!" protested Ron.

"No, not you for once, Ron. I meant Heidi."

I looked up at the sound of my name and pouted. "Me? I only did it sixty-eight times last year!"

Hermione sighed. "Well, however many times you did it, we'll be seeing a lot more of him in dark hallways now. Him and his whole gang."

"Great," muttered Harry darkly. "Even more chances for Malfoy to try and do us in. And what about that meeting Dumbledore called for us? Have you two heard anything about it?" he asked the two Prefects.

"FWOT," Hermione responded.

Harry and I exchanged glances.

"Er … 'wot'?" I verified.

She tisked at our ignorance. "No, not 'wot'. F.W.O.T!"

"Hermione, SPEW was bad enough, alright? No more House-Elf rights gibberish. Or any other creature, for that matter," Ron said. His eyes widened as a thought seemed to pass through him. "The … the T doesn't stand for 'Troll', does it?"

She rolled her eyes. "No, Ronald, it does not. If you don't yet know, it's the acronym for Future Wizarding Occupations Training, and you'd do well to participate. If you still want to be an Auror, that is." Her gaze switched to me and became much less exacting. "They're doing a Healer program too, Heidi. I'm sure you'd be interested in that one."

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Hermione was right about the program, I noted to myself, once I saw the list of potential careers posted in the Great Hall a few hours later. We had already been to the new common room, which in spite of a rather damp air quality had been set up to exactly replicate our old tower. But all four of us had gotten lost on the way out, and despite running into at least six Slytherins, none of us could bring ourselves to ask for directions. Our tardiness had ensured that the only seats we could find in the sea of wooden chairs were scattered among the crowd. I ended up a row behind a familiar albino-esque head.

"You're sure, Draco? That's really the program you're choosing?" one of his girlfriends asked. I wasn't sure which one, until she turned sideways to display the outline of a bronzed and radiant pug face. Pansy.

"Yes, I'm sure," he said in annoyance. I was surprised to see him nudge away the hand she placed on his leg.

"But it's such a soft program! Why don't you do something for the Ministry? Like become Minister for Magic?" she suggested, determinedly returning her hand to what she seemed convinced was its rightful place.

So engrossed was I in picturing Draco Malfoy's reign as Minister for Magic that I almost missed Pansy mutter 'Healers don't even do anything'. I felt like someone had doused me with ice water.

"You want to be a Healer?" I blurted.

The couple turned around and were generous enough to bestow upon me a dirty look each.

"Run along and let the important people talk, Zabini," sneered Malfoy, but the only thing I heard was him failing to disprove my worst nightmare.

"But - but you can't be a Healer! Healers help people, Malfoy! That's literally what they're there for! I don't even think they'd let you in, if I'm gonna be honest."

He rolled his eyes. "Good thing nobody consulted with you, then." I distinctly heard him mutter something rather child-unfriendly as he turned back to face the front.

 _No. No,_ _thank you_ _._

"Thank you all for joining me this evening," began Professor McGonagall. "I'm sure you all have questions but I'll ask that you refrain from posing them until Professor Snape and I have finished explaining."

I saw Harry's hand shoot up from the other side of the Hall. Snape gave him an incisive sneer.

"Are you deaf, Potter, or just incredibly self-absorbed?"

Pansy burst into laughter and I kicked her chair, making it scoot a few inches.

"Where's Professor Dumbledore?" asked Harry.

"Busy, Potter," answered Professor McGonagall firmly. She held a long roll of parchment. "Now, this new curriculum has been in development for over a year, so we would like to think that the kinks have all been ironed out. However, as it's the first year of implementation, the Ministry thinks it is best to keep you in groups of two or three. This is not an invitation to freeload. The work will be hard, but rewarding. There will even be a few times throughout the year that you will be able to get first-hand experience within the field that you aspire to. If done correctly, you should all walk out with mentors and a foot in the door. Now, your options are as follows: Auror, Healer, Wandmaker, Potioneer…"

I tuned out at this and took the opportunity to kick Malfoy's chair to get his attention. Disappointingly, he didn't scoot as far as Pansy.

He whipped around, nostrils flaring. I ignored him and went straight into my monologue. "Gosh, there are so many options, aren't there?" I mused, trying to sound tempting. "I don't even know what to choose. But I do know one thing: I wouldn't choose Healing. No I would not. So many…" I struggled to find something to dislike about the profession I worshipped since I was eight. "Smells?"

"Can't be more than you're emitting," jeered Pansy.

I looked at her in mock-wonder. "Good one, Pans." My eyes snapped back to Malfoy. "You know, she's a smart cookie, that girlfriend of yours. I especially like the whole Minister for Magic idea. See, when I close my eyes and imagine a better future for the coming generation – you know, as I like to do – I think to myself, who better to run the show than Draco Malfoy? I mean he's tall and … and a wizard. So the whole 'Magic' part of the title is covered, really." I cringed, feeling like my pep talk was starting to lack some. "Plus he's a hypocrite sometimes. So that's … you know … good. A nice, healthy dose of hypocrisy is actually recommended in politics..."

Malfoy narrowed his silver eyes. "The next time you kick my chair, Zabini, I will _waste_ you."

I dropped my hopeful smile and shrank back into my chair, just in time to hear McGonagall announce that it was time for questions.

"Yes, Miss Granger?"

"I was just wondering, Professor, on what basis our partners will be chosen?"

McGonagall nodded approvingly. "Wonderful question, Miss Granger."

"Oh yes, Miss Mudblood, _wonderful_ question," mocked Pansy, setting off an intense inner-struggle that resulted in me kicking another chair full force. I incurred the wrath of the Slytherin duo for the third time.

"In my defense, Malfoy, you only said your chair," I pointed out, before putting on my best Malfoy voice. "'The next time you kick _my_ chair, Zabini'-"

"Problem, Heidi? Or may I answer Hermione's question?" asked Professor McGonagall pointedly.

I shook my head. "No problem, Professor."

"Very well. The partners you receive will be assigned on the basis of intellectual and personal compatibility. Sometimes, one factor will trump the other. That is to be expected. However, in the unlikely event that you cannot work with your assigned partner, please go to your Head of House in order to rectify this." She rolled up her parchment, which was trailing at the hem of her robes. "I will now ask all of you to make your way to the signup sheets for your desired program. You will get your schedules and the name of your partner at breakfast tomorrow."

I wrestled my way through the row of chairs, determined to sign up before Malfoy. But upon my arrival at the signup wall, a name was already four lines above mine in neat, precise handwriting: Draco L. Malfoy.

"Bastard," I whispered.

I had no choice but to accept his presence not only in my holidays, but in all of my classes. Seeing 'Pansy Parkinson' scrawled on the same sheet made that acceptance seem like an impossible feat.


	3. A Little Family Trauma

a/n:

 **Hello again! I've got another update for you, which I edited sooner than I thought I would. I'm having a _lot_ of fun working on this story. Hopefully you guys are having fun with me!**

 **Shoutout to my friend Meghan, who found this even though I was convinced she couldn't. She's stubborn like that. ;)**

 **And shoutout to all of you guys, who I'm still shocked even stop to read my drivel, let alone follow and favourite it! You guys are the best!**

 **P.S. I'm sure you've caught on to the fact that this is gonna be a bit of a slow burn - Heidi wouldn't be too happy if Malfoy grabbed her and kissed her out of the blue right now. She might drop her snacks if he did, and she certainly wouldn't appreciate that...**

 **~ Anna**

* * *

I spent all of breakfast trembling with dread. What if I got paired with Malfoy? What if I got paired with _Parkinson?_

"Oh, Heidi, relax," said Hermione as I gulped down a chalice of pumpkin juice. "I know what you're thinking, but it's highly unlikely isn't it? You'll probably get paired with your brother, if it's a Slytherin at all."

"Well," said Ron as he looked at the onslaught of owls that had finally burst into the Great Hall. "She'll find out soon, won't she?"

A great tawny owl found me and dropped an envelope in my lap. I cringed and tried to open it while the bird wasn't looking – a difficult feat, seeing as it was staring right at me. After certain unneeded encounters over the years, I had developed what could only be called animal trust issues.

Harry looked at me in confusion and offered the expectant bird some pellets. "They're not all like Malfoy's owl, you know."

Instinctively, I brought a hand to the bridge of my nose, where I had a tiny scar from Vampyre's beak.

"Go on, open your letter," he said, ripping into his own. His face lit up at what he saw. "Brilliant! Ron's with me!"

Ron grinned and high-fived him across the table. "We haven't got Potions until Wednesday, either. That's double brilliant if you ask me."

"What about you, Hermione?" I asked, partially hoping to stall. I knew she had signed up for the Ministry's Magical Law department, but that was all I knew of it.

"I've got Ernie MacMillan," she said brightly. "It says here that we'll be taking History of Magic, Charms, Transfiguration, and Magical Theory. Oh, and Muggle Studies. Wonderful! No Snape at all."

Ron didn't seem too happy about that, though I suspect it had more to do with Ernie than with a lack of Potions.

"How can a witch not study Potions?" he complained. "Sounds bloody ridiculous to me."

"Excuse me, Ronald, but I study Potions every day. I didn't need Snape looming over me to brew Polyjuice Potion in second year, and I certainly don't need him now."

This shut Ron up long enough for everyone's attention to turn towards me. I sighed and peeled open my envelope.

I looked down at the name on the parchment and, after a moment of bemusement, laughed at my own stupidity. "Susan Bones," I said, holding the paper up as evidence.

"Told you, didn't we?" said Harry. "They're not running some sort of human experiment. For once."

"What classes are you in?" asked Hermione.

"Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Charms, Transfiguration and … oh no …"

"Herbology?" she guessed. I nodded wordlessly. "I hear Susan's alright at it. And I'll help you after hours. You'll be fine," she assured me.

Funny how whenever someone said that, things turned out to be just the opposite.

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"I see I get the honour of teaching your first class."

Severus Snape's black eyes swept over everyone in the room. He was appraising us, as always, to see if there was anybody up to scratch. Every year he disappointed himself. But as he looked at me and Susan, Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein, and everybody else that had cooperated with Harry Potter in any way, he looked especially disappointed. There were only three people who had a chance to negate this: one was my brother, one was sleeping with his eyes open, and one was reapplying lipstick for the sixth time.

"Pity, pity. Precious knowledge really is wasted on the brainless." I wasn't surprised that he seemed to direct his comment to the competent side of the room. He turned with a dramatic swooshing of his robes and conjured words onto the blackboard. "I will waste no time holding your hands through this potion. It is elementary knowledge, acquired in your fourth year. If you cannot brew this then we have ourselves a little issue … don't we?" He smiled unpleasantly, and I saw his gaze fix on my partner. It was then that I realized how little I knew of her capabilities.

Susan Bones was a sweet Hufflepuff who despised Umbridge and adored the Boy Who Lived. And that was all I knew. But as I watched her fumble with Wormwood, scorch our cauldron, and drop in beetle wings before frog legs in direct reversal of Snape's instructions, I realized that Susan Bones was a rubbish potioneer. And by the end of the day, I had realized that Susan Bones was a rubbish Transfigurator and Defense Against the Dark Arts practitioner, too. I looked around each class we went to, trying to assess if I was the only one having such an awful time. Only one group had come close.

"Draco, this class is just dumb!" whined Parkinson. "I mean, why would we need to learn to defend ourselves against the Dark Arts? We _are_ the Dark Arts. C'mon, let's ditch before the professor sees."

"For the last damn time, Pansy-"

"What, you don't like me anymore?" purred Pansy. But there was a malicious undertone to her sugary purr. I couldn't help but turn to eavesdrop on their conversation. "You didn't like me very much last night, either. I mean you certainly _tried_ , but you couldn't quite get there, could you?"

Malfoy blushed a furious red just as I had caught on to the meaning behind his girlfriend's words. I couldn't look away fast enough to go unnoticed.

"I'm surprised they let _you_ into the program, Zabini, seeing as your magic's so bloody sub-par. If I didn't know any better, I'd have pegged you as a mud-"

"Malfoy," Blaise warned.

I looked at him with surprise. My brother stood up for me maybe two times out of ten. I sensed it wasn't so much Malfoy's intent to hurt me (Blaise certainly turned a blind eye to that many times), but his suggestion that our family name was impure. Still, I'd take what I could get.

A woman with bright turquoise hair went past us, catching my attention. I never managed a glimpse of her face, but as she gave a telltale stumble on her way to the door, I realized who she was.

"Tonks!" I exclaimed.

She turned to me as she unlocked the second-floor classroom. "Wotcher, Heidi!"

"You're teaching this year?" I asked.

Malfoy gave a disgusted groan. "They might as well hire an ape to teach and get it over with," he whispered harshly to Blaise, who gave a subtle nod of agreement.

"What's wrong, sweet cousin of mine? Not happy to see me?" She gave herself a ferret's snout and reveled – just as I did - in his satisfying jump backwards. He said nothing more and stalked into the open classroom, going straight for the back.

As the lesson rolled to an end and Susan sent me to the floor for the fifth time through an accidental hex, I felt like my future was truly doomed. Or at least my career prospects were. I contemplated marrying rich for a split-second, but one look at Malfoy, who was jeering at me along with my brother and Pansy, put that idea to bed.

"Heidi, can I talk to you for a sec?" said Tonks.

"Sure," I said as I rubbed my smarting tailbone. The class had begun to leave, with Malfoy at their hilt. I scrambled up.

"I liked you better on the floor, blood traitor," he muttered maliciously on his way out.

I shot his back a dirty look, then went to Tonks. I knew my magic had been feeble that day, but I was still hoping I'd get used to Susan before any real trouble came of it.

Tonks smiled encouragingly, but then looked bothered. "You need a new partner, Heidi, don't you think?"

I shrugged. I didn't want to put the blame on Susan, even if we were completely incompatible in ability.

"You don't have to say yes. But I know your magic, and that wasn't it."

"It's just first day jitters," I reasoned. "Besides, other people were having trouble today, too. I mean look at Malfoy and Parkinson; they've been stepping on each other's toes all day. Or Blaise and Padma Patil … what?"

Tonks had suddenly put on a ruminating expression that filled me with discomfort. "Malfoy, you say?" She sucked air in through her teeth as she contemplated him. She was as fuzzy-feely about him as I was, after his mother had shunned her own from the family for marrying a Muggle-Born. "That kid looks ill compared to when I last saw him."

"When did you see him?" I questioned.

"I caught a glimpse when he visited Azkaban the week after his dad's arrest. He isn't usually this pale, is he?"

"No," I said confidently. Over the years, I had seen Malfoy's full range of skin tones: Angry Pink, Ugly Wedding Dress White, and 'I-Wear-Suits-To-The-Beach' albino-tan. But grey had never been one of his undertones. "I think he's ill, actually. And I think it's made him even more of a git," I said, thinking of how needlessly hostile he's been.

Tonks' mouth curved down in concern. "You think so?"

I pulled a chair up to her desk and made myself comfortable. I forgot she was a professor now, and no longer a theory receptacle. The mistake would cost me - but I didn't know that then.

"I know so. I don't think he's been taking anything well, especially after Narcissa … well … I assume you read about it in Skeeter's weekly column."

Tonks snorted. "Like I'd read that rubbish. My mother told me my aunt's been unwell for a while. I didn't realize the kid was too."

I sighed and shook my head. "He's an idiot. An ego-driven idiot. I just hope someone intervenes before he gets completely out of hand. I doubt it though; not everyone's had the blessing of having years of training in dealing with the jerk."

"What about that girl of his?"

I chortled. "Pansy? As if she can help. The pug can't look at anyone more intently than she looks at her own reflection. Not that I care. Besides, I don't even think they're that close anymore. Again, not that I care."

"I'll have to keep an eye on him. Can't have him suffer too much, even if he is a no-gooder. Not that I'm allowed to say that about a student…" She winked. "As for you, I'm bringing it up to the headmaster whether you like it or not. You're not going to ruin your chances at Healing because you got the wrong partner."

"I just don't want Susan to-"

She gave me an understanding smile. "I know. I'll be gentle when I bring it up to Professor Dumbledore. I'm a Hufflepuff, you know. I'm remarkably bad at crushing people's dreams. Now run along before people start to think I'm playing favourites."

I snorted and stood up.

"Oh, and Heidi?"

"Yeah?"

She put on a white ferret's snout once more. "A memory for your long trek to the dungeons, yeah?" she said with another wink.

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Not long after, I got an owl from Dumbledore urgently beckoning me to his office. I knew it had been penned by the headmaster himself both by the handwriting and the fact that it revealed absolutely none of his reasons for calling me up.

"Did you do something bad in class?" suggested Ron.

"No," I said, as I cupped my cheek and read the note once more. I had originally thought it was about switching partners, but after at least three Gryffindors got switched around with barely a word from McGonagall, I realized such a minor matter wouldn't warrant a nine p.m. meeting with Albus Dumbledore.

"Did you do something bad to Malfoy?" asked Ginny.

I wheezed a frustrated breath. "No! Why does everyone think I'm always doing bad things to Malfoy?"

"Because he's the type to do something first, get a reaction, and run off to whine to a teacher," said Ginny matter-of-factly.

"Well if that's still how he gets his kicks given his circumstances, then he's losing brain cells." I shoved the letter in my pocket and pushed myself off the couch. "I hope I'm worrying for nothing."

"I'm sure you are," said Ron. "Dumbledore's been talking to a few people about switching them out of the program they picked, so maybe it's just that."

I could feel the blood escape my face. It suddenly made sense. I was getting kicked out of Healing. They already thought I was useless.

I left the common room quickly, so no one would see me tremble. I didn't get far in the dank, unlit corridor before a hand clasped around my elbow and dragged me behind the corner. Instinctively, I jabbed my free elbow into the attacker's chest. No avail.

"What did you tell them?" spat a whisper in my ear.

I breathed in relief as I realized it was only Malfoy. Though, on second look, running into the Bloody Baron would've creeped me out less.

"God, Malfoy! Do you live just to pop out of shadows as I walk by? There are better ways to kill me than by scaring me with _that_ face," I said, gesturing to his languished features, which he had curved into the usual scowl.

"Answer the bloody question," he hissed.

"I can't 'answer the bloody question' because I don't understand the bloody question! And let go of my elbow! Threatening passers-by in the underbelly of Hogwarts is morbid, even for you," I said in exasperation. I felt his grip leave my arm.

"Fine. I'll rephrase: what did you say to my blood traitor of a cousin about me? Because Snape said you got me a ticket to Dumbledore's office this evening, Zabini, and it's really not scoring you any favours."

I wasn't fazed by his intimidation tactics. It was his words that sparked concern.

"Y-you're headed to the headmaster's office as well? Right now?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Beautiful. Looks like you did yourself in as well." Without another word, he turned from me and started down the hallway. I ran to catch up.

"Wait, Malfoy."

I grabbed his left sleeve to stop him, and he threw me off with incredible hostility, looking ready to spew a torrent of hexes. He stopped suddenly, just as a teardrop of mine threatened to go overboard. I wiped it out of my eye, mortified at showing such weakness to him.

"What?" he asked tersely.

"What if … what if it's something to do with our parents?"

He shrugged. "Maybe with yours. Mine are locked safely away in hell."

"That's not helpful," I said reproachfully.

"Well what do you want from me, Zabini? I'm not going to hold your hand and tell you it'll all be alright."

"I don't want you holding my hand! But you don't have to make things worse," I snapped.

"No one held my hand, did they?" he seethed. "Least of all you and your band of Gryffindor dipshits. Maybe you could use a taste of your own medicine, Zabini. A little family trauma might do you some good."

The tears came back to my eyes as I grasped exactly what he was wishing upon me.

"I hate you," I whispered fiercely.

I can attest to the fact that, at that point, I really truly meant it.


	4. Very Tired Habits

a/n:

 **Not much to report except for another update for you guys!**

 **As always, thanks for all you do: reading, following, favouriting (and now reviewing! Props to you, Guest. You're awesome! =D)**

 **My original disclaimer eternally stands: anything recognizable is J. K. Rowling's.**

 **~ Anna**

* * *

"Good evening, you two," said Dumbledore as we marched wordlessly into his office. I was still lit up with anger; even the splendor in Fawkes, his famously loyal phoenix, couldn't keep it at bay. "Are you alright, Heidi?"

"Yes, Professor," I said as I lowered myself onto a puffy red chair across from his desk.

"You too may sit, Mister Malfoy."

I was all too aware that he had sat himself beside me, the gleam of his platinum hair apparent in the fringes of my vision.

"I don't doubt that you two have fretted over my reasons for asking you here. Rest assured that nothing bad has happened, and that your loved ones are quite safe, wherever they may currently be." Dumbledore gave Malfoy a particularly long look, and I realized he meant this comment specifically for him.

He grunted dismissively in response. I scowled at the disrespect.

"You two have known each other for a long time, yes?" said Dumbledore.

"Practically since birth," I interjected, before Malfoy could say anything snarky about knowing me for longer than he'd have liked to.

"Ah. I have heard something to that extent – that your families are very close. You two must understand each other well, having shared so many milestones."

Malfoy crossed his arms and sat back in his chair. "You would think so, Professor, but it takes Zabini an exceptional amount of effort to understand anything," he said.

I huffed, forever falling for the bait. "That's because everything you do is _beyond_ understanding, Malfoy! You-"

Dumbledore held up his hand and I realized I was getting a little too into familiar routines. I blushed and mumbled an apology at him.

"It is not whether you two are fond of each other, Heidi; it's whether you two complement each other."

"Oh, easy: no. He does not compliment me, sir. Actually, he mostly insults me. If I'm really lucky, he ignores me. But definitely no compliments."

Malfoy wisely abstained from giving his opinion, and instead sat, looking very tired and very bored.

"You aspire to be Healers, correct?" asked Dumbledore. We nodded in unison. "Healing is a very good choice for you; you are both strong students. In fact, by the looks of your school records, you're evenly matched in nearly every subject."

Malfoy allowed his eyebrows to creep up in surprise. Dumbledore smiled at him.

"Yes, Draco, I'm afraid it is so," he said before continuing. "And how have the partners I assigned you been in this respect? Would you say they have been evenly matched to you?"

I hesitated, trying to find a way to tell a gentler version of the truth - but before I could think of one, Malfoy simply and confidently blurted 'no'.

Dumbledore took his glasses off and rubbed the bridge of his nose, looking heavy with remorse. "This too has been brought to my attention. I hope you will forgive me for my hypocrisy. While preaching change to my students as a group, I chose to stick to old and tired habits when it came to you two. Admittedly, I am an old and tired habit myself, but that does you no favours. However, my slight will be remedied tonight. Upon Miss Parkinson's sudden departure from the program, and Miss Bones' transfer into Creature Care, the opportunity is now there to combine two talented individuals. What say you?"

Malfoy's mouth twitched into a deeper frown. "I'm not sure I understand. What is it that you want from us? If you're thinking of a partnership, the answer is a definite no."

"I understand your reluctance, Draco, but this seems to be your only option for now. I cannot have students working alone," said Dumbledore.

"Then get me Blaise!" he demanded. I was still silent, absorbing but barely understanding what Dumbledore was trying to achieve.

"Blaise is with Padma Patil, as I'm sure you know."

"Then get me somebody else! I'd sooner work with the Mud-"

"Don't you dare!" I snarled, having finally found my voice.

"I must agree with Heidi here, and implore you not to use such degrading words in my office."

Malfoy curled his lip and settled further into his chintz armchair.

Dumbledore turned his attention to me. "And you, Heidi? What are your thoughts?"

"My thoughts are …" Scattered. "Maybe this can be temporary?" I suggested hopefully. "People are switching a lot between programs, so maybe someone else will join and we can split up."

Dumbledore considered this for a moment, and nodded. "It is possible. I will certainly keep it in mind as an option. But for now, it is best for you two to seek some common ground. Professor Snape, it seems, is not so fond of dueling next to his Potions storeroom this year. Something about irreplaceable ingredients getting destroyed …" He cast us a knowing smile from above his spectacles and I blushed as I recalled the damage done.

"Are we done, then?" said Malfoy. His previous outrage had turned into bored indifference.

"Yes, Draco, you may leave," said Dumbledore.

By the time I had gained enough composure to go down to the Dungeons, Malfoy was long gone.

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The next morning, I walked into McGonagall's class with such trepidation that she thought someone had jinxed me to walk in slow motion. Once I saw Malfoy wasn't there, however, I sprinted to a desk and launched myself into the seat to everyone's surprise. It wasn't until she finished explaining the merits of digit transfiguration that I realized I was utterly screwed.

"Each partner must hold very still as the other attempts this, or you risk losing more than a finger. You will be evaluated on your skills next week." Her eyes travelled to me, alone in my aloneness. She frowned and glanced at the clock, which showed that Malfoy was twenty minutes late and counting.

"Mister Zabini, are you aware of your fellow Slytherin's whereabouts?"

My brother shook his head.

"Did anybody see him at breakfast this morning?"

The class in its entirety shook theirs.

Her thin frown curved downwards still. "I see. Then I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask another group to take you on for today's lesson, Heidi. Terry and Anthony, what about you? You seem to have the spell perfected." She didn't leave the amusement out of her tone as she looked at the pair.

Terry Boot and Anthony Goldstein hastily hid their wands and pretended not to have been practicing the spell ad nauseam as she taught.

I couldn't tell if I was impressed with or afraid of their desperation for scholarly perfection. At any rate, I was comparatively more afraid of having Malfoy cast spells on my 'digits', so I walked confidently to the seat next to Anthony's and settled in.

"Heidi," he said with a curt nod, adjusting his collar the way I'd only ever seen seriously adult adults do.

"Hey, Anthony. Terry." I nodded just as curtly at both of them.

Terry pushed his glasses up his nose and straightened up importantly. "I prefer Terrence, actually."

I tried not to wrinkle my nose. "Really? But in the D.A. meetings you said-"

He broke into a smile. "Of course not. I'm just messing with this guy," he said, pointing to Anthony. "He's been all business since the first day he got here and it's driving me insane. He's been studying for classes in advance all summer, and roping me into practicing spells with him since we got on the Express."

"Wait, you studied for class in _advance_?" I exclaimed.

"Of course! Sixth year is the time to get ready for Seventh year, which then determines where you'll be for the rest of your life. Frankly, Heidi, if you haven't revised this summer, it may already be too - oof! Terry, mind your elbow!"

"What my conversationally inept friend meant to say is that you have no need to worry about that kind of thing, Heidi, because you're incredibly smart as it is."

"Well now I _know_ you've never actually listened to her speak," drawled the Ghost of Ferrets Past from behind me. I turned and looked him up and down.

"I thought they reported you missing," I said plainly.

Malfoy scowled and pushed past my chair to sit in Blaise's row.

"I'm afraid not, Mister Malfoy," said McGonagall of his effort to get rid of me. His scowl turned more profound as he made his way back to our table.

"There's no chair for me."

I turned to the two Ravenclaws. "Would you two happen to have an extra throne for Prince Ferret? No? Okay then." My self-satisfaction was cut off by the sound of chair legs crashing beside me.

"Alright, Freak, let's get this over with. Give me your hand."

" _What?_ " I spluttered. "Are you mad? Malfoy, let go of-" But he had already snatched my hand and pulled it onto his lap. "Malfoy, listen to me, you don't know the spell! Malfoy, _listen to_ -"

"Shut up, Zabini, you're boring me. _Digitus Verto!_ "

I looked on in intrigued disgust as my left thumb shrank into nothingness. "Malfoy!" I squeaked, once I'd found my ability to vocalize. "Malfoy, my thumb!"

"What about it?" he asked nonchalantly.

"It's completely gone!"

"I'm sure it's just on vacation, Zabini," Malfoy said with a satisfied smirk. Terry and Anthony stared at him, but he ignored them as he always had. "Besides, what do you need opposable thumbs for? It gives people the wrong idea about you. You know, that you're better than a monkey."

"Many monkeys have thumbs, Malfoy," snapped Anthony.

Malfoy gave him a murderous look. "How about minding your own business? Don't think I even bothered learning your name, come to think of it."

"It's Anthony!" I snarled.

Malfoy leaned back and closed his eyes, looking ready to nap. "Fascinating information. Truly."

I was pleased to see McGonagall approach the scene in a matter of seconds, and give him a less-than-gentle rap on the shoulder. "I hope, Draco, that you have a good explanation for your partner's missing thumb. And while you come up with that, perhaps you can formulate a reason for your tardiness."

Even the innocent had a tendency to get worried when McGonagall used that tone, but Malfoy carried on with perfect indifference.

"I was sick this morning. Ask Pomfrey," he said with a shrug.

Professor McGonagall clicked her tongue and regrew my thumb. "Hopefully your illness doesn't carry through to your final exams, Mister Malfoy, or you'll be in for big trouble."

For a split-second as her tartan cloak swished out of sight, I thought Malfoy was repressing tears. Then, he opened his mouth in a monumental yawn.

"You're such a bloody jerk," I reproached him.

He stopped mid-yawn to give me a blasé, half-lidded stare. "Want to try a finger, Zabini?"

I looked at him skeptically. "To transfigure?" I glanced at Terry and Anthony, and reminded myself that they were fully qualified D.A. members capable of keeping him from killing me. "O-okay…" I gulped and pointed my wand at his index finger.

"No, Zabini. This one." He made my favourite hand gesture and strode out of class just as the clock tower rang. I looked on in disbelief.

"Is he always such a foul git to you?" asked Terry.

"I think … I think he's actually gotten _worse_ ," I remarked, still staring at the door through which he'd disappeared without giving me so much as a second thought.

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If I had thought that the simple act of finding myself in Snape's class on a Monday morning was bad enough, then that was obviously before I had Malfoy as a partner.

"Malfoy, where are you going!" I demanded as he wove through the seemingly endless rows of tables.

"Do you need a compass or something, Freakface?" he asked, finally coming to a stop behind an empty table. He threw down his bag and sat. "This is what's called the back of a classroom," he said with a condescending smirk.

"Never mind what it's called, Ferret. I'll pay you a thousand galleons if you can actually see the blackboard from here."

"Why bother looking when I've got my own personal note-taker?" He wore a nasty grin as he said it, and it normally would have pissed me off, but my anger couldn't quite get past the grey bags under his eyes.

"You need your quill out," I mumbled for lack of anything cutting to say, leaving Malfoy looking more confused than affronted. I began jotting down the few directions I could see.

 _3 dashes of Bog-myrtle_

 _14.4 grams of Philosopher's wool_

 _One vial of Poppy seeds_

From the corner of my eye, I saw Malfoy give a struggled yawn. I dropped my quill and wheeled around to face him.

"Have you been sleeping at all?" I hissed. I tried to stay quiet, in case someone caught on to my concern. But no one else was listening at all – they were all too busy scurrying around in search of extra cauldrons and scales.

He frowned at me suspiciously. "What are you on about, Zabini?"

"You keep yawning!" I accused.

"Maybe that's because you're an absolute bore."

"Then why-"

"For anybody too daft to realize, we are brewing anti-venoms today," rang Snape's eternally-dissatisfied voice. "I myself have to step out for a moment. Instructions are on the board – I suggest you follow them. If this classroom is altered in any way, shape, or form, I will personally dock fifty points from all of you."

"You heard the man," Malfoy said dismissively. "Stop meddling and get the ingredients."

He frowned at me as I stayed in my seat, staring at him.

"You've been taking Wake Draught, haven't you?" I said bluntly, eyes fixed on his jawline. I saw it clench.

Malfoy moved his chair back so fast that the floor screeched; he was clearly desperate for distance. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You have blue discoloration on your jaw," I said, pointing to the pastel blue rings above his neck. "I can see it because you're so pale."

His hand moved to cover the offending area, but it was pointless. There was no arguing. I knew all about the potion from Hermione, who would sooner mess with time itself than take Wake Draught to stay productive.

"Malfoy, you can't play around with that stuff. It can kill you. They barely have an antidote."

"Go get the ingredients, Za-"

"Are you _listening_ to me? You could end up dy-"

"I said go get the-"

"NO!" I shouted, fed up with his complete disregard for my words of warning. There was movement all around us as our peers turned to look. I cleared my throat awkwardly. "No, um … because … because we have to get them together. As partners."

Malfoy had gone stiff under the attention. "Fine," he hissed. He made to stand up, but a strange, almost alarmed look passed over his face. He fell back into his seat. "You know, I just realized I don't take orders from blood traitors and Potty lovers. Get them yourself or don't get them at all; makes no difference to me."

I glared at him and sprang up. "Fine then, you absolute jerk!"

I marched into the potions storeroom, taking as much Bog-myrtle, Philosopher's wool and poppy seed as my heart desired. After several calming breaths, I came back to our table.

"Oh aren't you just _hilarious_ , Malfoy," I said sarcastically as he sat with his eyes closed. "No, really, I get it: I'm so boring that I put you to sleep." I set the ingredients in front of us and began rationing them. He made no move to help – in fact, he made no moves at all. "Come on, Malfoy, it's getting old. Start helping."

Nothing. My pulse began to speed. I put my hands on his shoulders, and when even being touched by a filthy creature like me neglected to cause a stir, I knew it was time to panic.


	5. Faith, Both Bad and Blind

a/n:

 **What should I be doing right now? Studying for my Neuroscience exam. What am I doing right now? Updating this. Oh well! ;)**

 **Another review! Thanks, girlmonstering, you pretty much made my day when I saw it!** **All I need in life are reviews and cookies (order debatable) so please leave some and let me know how I'm doing.**

 **And thanks to everyone else who reads, follows, favourites - be it all 3 or even just 1 of the above. You guys are love.**

 **~ Anna (aka Not J.K. Rowling, owner of this franchise)**

* * *

It was by small miracle that Snape chose this moment to come back to class.

"Professor Snape! Something's wrong with Malfoy!" I said in a flurry, still trying to rattle him awake. The longer he was out, the less chance he would ever wake up at all.

"Stand aside," ordered Snape as he hoisted Malfoy from his seat. I saw his black eyes linger on his jaw the same way mine had, and caught the briefest flash of worry. It was enough to tell me that this wasn't good.

"Will he be okay?" I asked, unable to rip my eyes from the blond, who was hanging limply from the professor's side.

Snape fixed me a sneer. "Of what consequence is that to you, Miss Zabini? From what I know of your relationship, you would be the first to hope that it not be the case." He led Malfoy to the door. "I expect you to finish this potion yourself, Zabini," he called over his shoulder. "Do not get help from the other teams or it will be a zero."

Numbly, I went back to our desk. I spared a glance at Blaise who, like the rest of the class, had witnessed the whole thing. But my brother looked wholly unaffected by the fact that his closest friend had been hauled away to the Hospital Wing. He was already opening his vial of Poppy seeds and dumping them carefully into his cauldron with Padma guiding him along.

It seemed the only person who Malfoy's episode humbled was me.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

Snape's assessment of our relationship nagged at the deepest parts of my conscience, even days later. Of course we weren't each other's biggest fans, but seeing Malfoy lifeless in a chair had been nothing short of gut-wrenching. Did our hatred really extend as far as death? Would McGonagall have made the same remark to him if I had been the one to pass out?

Would he have even alerted McGonagall at all?

"I just walked past Crabbe and Goyle," said Ron as he settled down in front of our Common Room fireplace. It was Sunday morning and I had been up for hours, working on a two-person essay that Snape had assigned solely to me while Malfoy was in hospital.

"Not hard to do, mate, with the pace they go at," said Harry with a grin. He was going through a corny looking book on Quidditch captain leadership techniques, and making more notes in the margins than the Half-Blood Prince himself (whoever that was).

Ron sniggered at the comment. "Fair enough. Anyway, I overheard them say that Malfoy still hasn't come out of the Hospital Wing. It's been nearly a week now. Isn't that wicked news?"

I froze mid-scribble, then forced myself to give a half-hearted nod. I caught sight of Ron's book-bag, slumping under the weight of at least twenty magazines. By the looks of it, he'd been collecting 'wicked news'.

"What's in your bag?" I asked.

"Skeeter's column, part two." He grinned and took it out.

"You're subscribed to that garbage?" I snatched it from him and my jaw dropped in astonishment. " _Ron!_ You've highlighted entire paragraphs!"

"Yeah. It's called research."

Hermione snorted from the other side of the room, which she had forbidden us to approach until she finished her essay on the systematic oppression of Merpeople in coastal towns.

I looked around and saw a previously unnoticed copy underneath Harry's stack of Quidditch books. "You're doing research too, are you? On Draco Malfoy the Great?" I chided.

Harry smiled half-ashamedly. "S'pose I am."

I sighed and sank into my armchair, defeated. It was then that I noticed Seamus Finnegan's copy. And Dennis Creevey's copy. And some First Year named Brian's copy. I turned back to Ron. "Why does _all of Gryffindor_ have a copy of Malfoy's life story, as told through Skeeter's lies?"

Ron gave another toothy grin. "Fred and George paid for all of our subscriptions in case some people aren't signed up for the Prophet. Speaking of which-" he reached into his bag and withdrew a copy. "Here you go, Heidi. Pass it on to Michael Corner when you're done though. We want Ravenclaw to have a look."

I scoffed and took it from him to see what Skeeter had dug up this time.

 _Trouble is certainly brewing in the house of Bad Faith, as I found out when my crew and I visited Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban this past week. The man, once regally handsome and elegantly dressed, has become something akin to the laughingstock of the elite. But there is not much to laugh at – he sits sallow-faced and raggedy behind steel bars, and responds to my questions with sneers that no longer hold quite the same effect. I cannot help but wonder if he will ever climb his way back to the top rung of society's ladder. My Galleons are on 'absolutely not'._

 _What says Narcissa Malfoy of her husband's fate? "Not much," states the wife of the assistant to her Healer's subordinate. Apparently, the Malfoy matriarch is suffering greatly in rehabilitation for her drinking problem, which resulted in her throwing her shoes (from_ last season's _Wicked Witch collection – money troubles, perhaps?) at a junior Healer's face two days ago._

 _It seems the fate of the family name rests on their sixteen-year-old son, Draco. Bad faith, indeed. Or, more fittingly, 'bad person to put faith in'. With a long string of failures following the young blond (from losing easy Qudditch matches, to being scholastically upstaged by those who barely knew what 'Slytherin' was by the time he was already aspiring to be in it), he must truly cause a bang to stay relevant. To what extent is he willing to go?_

 _Some say he has already gone to the darkest of sides: to the feet of 'The Dark Lord' himself, in the footsteps of his father (who is no longer a Lord at all – not even of his own Manor)._

I gaped at the libel in my hands. "She's calling Malfoy a _Death Eater_ now?"

"Yeah, well, Skeeter likes a good fall from grace," said Harry darkly.

"This isn't just a fall from grace, Harry, this could ruin him! He could get arrested over this without even a trial with the way the Ministry's been going lately. It'll put him over the edge."

"He's on the edge?" Harry asked skeptically.

"You haven't noticed?"

"I hate to break it to you, Heidi, but that prat's not exactly the object of our usual attentions," said Ron.

I rolled my eyes. "Yes, I know _that_. But it's hardly subtle, is it? I mean look at him. He's all thin and hostile-"

"As opposed to the warm and burly Malfoy we know and love?" he said.

Harry chuckled. I shot him a frown.

"He's taken so much Wake Draught it's given him spots and landed him in hospital!" I insisted, getting frustrated at how quick they were to ignore this.

"He's taken that much?" gasped Hermione, looking appropriately horrified.

Ron shrugged. "So the Ferret wants to stay awake past his bedtime, so what?"

Hermione dropped her quill and darted over to lecture him with her honey brown eyes blazing. "Do you know what that stuff does to you, Ronald? That's like getting thirsty and drinking vinegar to quench it! The pros outweigh the cons so much you'd have to be an idiot to try."

"Since when isn't Malfoy an-"

But it was Harry who contributed an answer. "What if Skeeter's right?" he said quietly. "What if Malfoy did join Voldemort?"

I shook my head violently. "No. No way."

"It explains the desperation, though, doesn't it? What if Voldemort's got him doing something that's making him desperate enough to take that potion?"

"Harry, believe me, Malfoy's only crime is being an imbecile. There's no way he'd join Voldemort; he's seen what it's done to his dad."

"Still-"

"Harry, drop it! It's not true."

I had no idea what was causing me to defend Malfoy so fiercely. Blind faith, maybe. Blind faith and the hope that, despite his infinite shortcomings, he was still the harmless jerk my parents adored having over for dinner.

"Perhaps he's just struggling to keep up with homework," reasoned Hermione. "You know, in light of everything else."

"If anything, I'm the one with the homework. I haven't had a partner for days now that he's out, and the workload hasn't exactly decreased."

The trio wheeled on me unexpectedly.

"He's your _partner?_ " sputtered Harry.

"I told you that!"

"No, you said you lost your old partner. You didn't say anything about your new one," he pointed out.

I waved them all away. "Is anyone honestly surprised, you guys? I've been stuck with him for years. What's a few more wasted months."

"Still," said Hermione. "I was sure they'd put you with Anthony and Terry, or something."

"Dumbledore thinks we're 'intellectually compatible."

Ron cringed. "And that doesn't offend you?"

"He's smarter than you think, actually," Hermione said. "He came in fourth in our year for O.W.L. results. Only Padma Patil, Terry Boot and I beat him. And you would have too, Heidi, if you hadn't…"

"Set fire to a plant during my Herbology exam? Yeah. I know." I sighed and rolled up the parchment I was working on. "Well trying to beat him won't do me much good anymore; our grades are shared. Which means I need to go give him these." I showed them my stack of parchment, where I had assignment details and class notes written out just for him.

"Good luck, mate," said Ron as I got up to leave.

Harry ran after me. "Heidi, wait!"

I turned to him.

"You'll tell us if you notice anything strange, right?" he said hopefully.

"Harry, you know I always do. And always will," I added, to reassure him.

What the hell did I know?

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

It was the very precipice of visiting hours by the time I'd actually made it to the Hospital Wing. I had procrastinated in every which way, even going so far as to try and have a casual conversation with Peeves, who expanded my encyclopedia of insults exponentially by spewing them at me. At least I was armed with new skills for handling Malfoy, who I was sure would be in one of his 'moods'. But when I crept into the candlelit Hospital Wing, with its rows of beds and tray tables, I found him looking very much asleep. A jolt of disquiet went through me. Three more days and he'd be a goner…

"I told you, didn't I?" I scolded him, knowing full well that I wouldn't get an answer. "Pomfrey better haul you out of this state quick or you'll be off to St. Mungo's."

I pulled out his bedside table so I could leave his homework somewhere visible, and found a copy of the Prophet on top of it. I looked at it indecisively for all of one second, then snatched it up to rifle my way through to Skeeter's insert. Carefully, I made to slip it into my bag and out of sight.

"Do you always talk people out of their REM cycle, Zabini?"

"Malfoy!" I gasped, the magazine sliding out of my schoolbag. "You're awake!"

He quirked an eyebrow at me. "I don't know what the Potty gang tells you, but your voice isn't exactly a lullaby." Malfoy pointed to the fallen tabloid, where a picture of his face took up the entire cover. "Did you want me to sign that for you? I could make it out to the Useless Zabini, from the Embodiment of Family Shame."

I swallowed nervously. "So you read it, huh?"

"Hasn't everyone?"

"Of course not! I mean, Michael Corner hasn't. And I'm sure Luna hasn't since she only reads the Quibbler. And you shouldn't either; what that woman is writing is pure garbage." To prove my point, I picked it up and ripped it to shreds. Or tried to.

"It's indestructible, Zabini," he said.

I caught the amused smirk in his eyes and blushed. I hadn't come here to embarrass myself.

"Of course it's indestructible; all the worst things are," I grumbled. "Explains why you're still alive and kicking, I suppose."

The smirk faded from his eyes, and the laughter along with it. He stared solemnly at the window ahead, where stars had already begun to appear. I looked down at my shoes, feeling the dull gnaw of guilt.

"Sorry, Malfoy. I … I shouldn't have said that."

His face darkened further. He made no motion to accept my apology.

I sat down on the bed beside his, and stayed there for another silent minute. "You're really good at sulking, you know," I observed. "Better than Harry, now that I think about it - you've got the eyebrow thing down pat, so it's all very 'coming to terms with my mortality'."

The corners of his mouth twitched and he turned to me, looking smug. "I think it goes without saying that the sole skill Potter has over me is getting his head split into stupid shapes."

"You know, I would love to help you out with that," I said with a half-smile. "I'm more than qualified to give you a head injury or two, wouldn't you say?"

Malfoy snorted. "Get your own head injuries under control first, would you?" He eyed me suspiciously as I got more comfortable. "What are you here for, anyway? Because if you say it's to have a bedtime chat, I'm getting Pomfrey."

"Oh _god_ no," I said, springing up from the bed. "I came to drop your homework off. It's right there."

He looked at his bedside table. "Ah yes. _There_ it is."

"You have to do it, Malfoy; don't try to get out of it. We'll be getting tested soon on everything we know."

Malfoy smirked. "I'm being tested right now, Zabini, just by your presence."

I rolled my eyes at his hyperbole. "You should be nicer to me, you know. You still need me to explain the homework."

"Like hell I do. I can wave my wand and say some spells just fine. And, unlike you, I can keep a plant alive for more than one minute."

"Okay, you are basing your assessment on the very distant past, and it is completely irrelevant now. As are you." I turned up my nose at him, causing his smirk to grow tenfold.

"Four months is now the very distant past?" he remarked. "Either way, it doesn't take Longbottom to figure out that you're still a plant's worst nightmare. And speaking of the witless wonder, isn't he _better_ than you at Herbology?"

"Alright, you know what? I'm leaving!" I snapped. I had made it five steps, before feeling the need to turn back to him. "Hey, Malfoy, um … cut down on the near-death experiences, would you? I still want to annihilate you in Quidditch and it's a little hard when you look like … that."

"Zabini, I could lose both arms and still win that match," he said, before closing his eyes and announcing quite obnoxiously that visiting hours were over.

I scowled and made my way to the exit, near which another copy of the Prophet lay. I checked to see that Malfoy wasn't looking, before sneaking it into my bag and away from the student body. I convinced myself it was so the First Years wouldn't have to look at someone so blindingly pale.


	6. An Avalanche of Malfoys

a/n:

 **You lovelies know the drill =D**

 **Thanks to Amanda for leaving a really sweet review, one that I neglected to mention last chapter because it appeared a few days later than it was actually written.**

 **And thanks to all of you!**

 **Still not J. K. Rowling, still just Anna (and still putting up with all that that entails ;) )**

 **~ Anna**

* * *

Seven minutes. Seven minutes was all I had before Harry subjected me to one of his Oliver Wood-esque Quidditch lectures. But seven minutes was not nearly enough time to find my Beater's bat, which seemed to have vanished from the room completely.

"Are you looking for something?" asked Hermione curiously, peering out from behind a textbook the size of a house.

"Yes!" I wailed as I lifted my crimson bed-skirt. I shoved my collection of Skeeter's magazines out of the way and cursed myself for squirrelling them away each time I'd spotted a copy. What had started as a brave show of moralistic principles (or whatever) had pretty much ended up with Malfoy paraphernalia taking over every nook and cranny of my space. At around day four, when the remaining stacks of his face had nowhere to go but under my pillow, I drew the line and started sneaking them off to the Room of Requirement.

"What is it you're looking for?" she asked.

"My bat! If I don't show up to practice, Harry will go absolutely ballistic and ban me from pie again."

"He's banned you from pie before?"

I sighed, shoving my bedside table to check behind it. "Food's the only punishment I respond to. You know this."

"Fair point." She slid off her bed. "I'll help you, then. Have you looked inside your wardrobe?"

"NO!" I darted to the wardrobe in question and blocked her from it. As I found out earlier last night, opening the doors led to an avalanche of Malfoys. "I um … I have your birthday present in here."

"But you already gave me my present," she said, gesturing to the gift set of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion sitting on her table.

"Right. Well I'm talking about your other present. For your Birthday...versary?"

"You're a worse liar than Ron," Hermione said. "But I guess I haven't been totally truthful either." She sighed and looked at me with pity. "There's a high possibility that your bat isn't in the room."

My eyes snapped to hers and narrowed in suspicion. This wouldn't be the first time she meddled in Quidditch; her reporting Harry's Firebolt to McGonagall in third year was still sore on everyone's mind.

"Hermione Jean Granger, _what_ did you do?"

"Harry asked me to bring out your bat and give it to him, since he can't come in here himself … so I did."

I rubbed my temples. This was too much. "You - you brought my bat out to Harry? My lucky bat?"

Hermione huffed and put her hands on her hips. "Heidi, that thing is ancient! It's breaking at least three safety violations!"

"No, it's _almost_ breaking at least three safety violations. The distinction is important, which I'm sure you understand, seeing as you want to work in law."

She scowled. "Just be grateful it wasn't your broom! I'm tempted to bring that one to McGonagall myself."

I rolled my eyes. "Which would make me what kind of a Quidditch player? A broomless, batless one?"

"Better than a legless, neckless one."

I gave one last groan of protest and took off for the pitch, convinced that pie was now a thing of the past for me. But when I got there, instead of yelling, Harry enthusiastically waved me over to the locker rooms.

"I was just about to start, Heidi!"

He pulled me in front of the rest of the team and beamed at me. Demelza Robbins and I exchanged nervous glances.

"Er … did you need something?" I asked.

"As a matter of fact, I do - I thought I'd start training with a bit of an update on our competition. Courtesy of you, that is." He turned to the rest of the team. "She made FWOT partners with Malfoy, which, lucky for us, means free and unlimited information on his state of being. Now he's usually the one feeding Urquhart information about which moves to make, so I'm thinking a lot of what he says will depend on how he's planning to fly."

I couldn't help but laugh in astonishment. " _What?_ "

Harry blinked. "…What?"

"It's true, Heidi. Urquhart's thicker than a drunken troll. He only became captain because he's older; Malfoy's the one putting tactics together," said Ron.

"That's not what I was laughing at. I was laughing because I don't _have_ unlimited information on Malfoy's 'state of being' and I have no idea where you even thought this up!"

Harry's face dropped. "You have to have something on him. Come on, Heidi, get your head in the game! This is our greatest chance to win!"

"Are you joking? Have you seen the state of him? There's nothing that I could possibly say that isn't obvious to anyone who bothers to look," I argued. "Our 'greatest chance to win' is if Snape even lets him show up to play instead of putting him on sick leave like he ought to; he'll be off his broom in seconds."

Ron and Harry looked at each other and grinned.

"Sweet! Make sure to tell him to stay on no matter what Snape says, will you?"

"That isn't a good thing," I muttered darkly, but Harry had already moved on to discussion of how to integrate the Transylvanian Tackle with the Bludger Backbeat.

"Oh, that reminds me!" said Harry, as he turned to me. "Ron, get the box."

"What box?" I asked, looking around wildly at my teammates, none of which would make eye contact. Katie Bell, Ritchie Coote and Ginny Weasley were looking especially sheepish. "What box?" I asked again.

Ron disappeared for a moment behind one of the heavy metal lockers in the locker room. When he emerged, he presented me with a long, slender box covered in badly-taped wrapping paper of Christmas lights that were charmed to glow. A frayed black and orange ribbon sat askew it, while stickers of Cupid covered the patches in the paper.

Harry cleared his throat. "This is a birthday gift from the entire team."

 _Like hell it is._

I surveyed my team members with a raised eyebrow and held up the package, knowing exactly what it was. "Did someone vomit the whole calendar year on this? Oh, no, wait – we're missing Easter." I put the bat aside. "Now I know this may surprise you, seeing as we've only known each other for six years, but my birthday is definitely, one-thousand-and-one percent _not_ in September."

"Then it's a back to school gift," Harry insisted.

"Consider me a dropout."

"Heidi-"

"Harry Potter, you listen to me! I do not want a new bat. I do not _need_ a new bat. The only thing I need is my old bat, with the peeling wood and the wobbly handle, because _that_ is the bat that broke Crabbe's face, shattered Malfoy's kneecap and knocked Pucey off his broom all in the same match. Got it?"

He sighed and muttered something that had the word 'stubborn' in it.

"Speaking of which, where is it?"

"Hidden," he said firmly.

"Where?"

"A room."

"A room where?"

"A room where I hide things. Now can we move on or – ZABINI GET BACK HERE! I'm your captain! I'll ban you from – from..."

But what it was he banned me from was inaudible on this side of the pitch. I stormed into the castle, broom trailing behind me.

"'Room where I hide things' indeed," I muttered darkly. But how could I have missed it? I'd gone into the Room of Requirement loads of times to drop off copies of Malfoy's column. How could-

"Why so glum, Freakface? Potter drop you from the team already?"

I stopped short, hissing frustrated air through my teeth as I did so. "You know, you could take the time to come up with a new nickname, seeing as you've been recycling that one from when we were ten." I pushed past him. "I don't have time for you anyway, Malfoy."

"Well aren't you just a busy little blood traitor today," he drawled. "Looks to me like the Quidditch Pitch is the other way, though."

"I'm not going to the pitch, you dunce. I'm going to find the Beater's bat that Ron and Harry _stole_ from me and put in the Room of Requirement."

Malfoy laughed humorlessly from behind me, making me realize that he was actually following me as I walked.

"Malfoy, are you aware that you're voluntarily putting yourself in my presence outside of class?"

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

I scoffed and bounded up the steps with him at my back. "Yeah, it almost beats my September birthday present."

"Your birthday's in September and your mother didn't even bother to throw you a party?"

I turned on my heel, pleasantly surprised at the height advantage that the steps gave me. "My birthday is in April, just like Blaise's. Or do you not understand how twins work?"

He smirked up at me. "Still doesn't explain the lack of parties."

I narrowed my eyes. So he was looking for a fight today, was he?

"You of all people know why I don't have parties, Ferret."

"Because Mummy and Daddy don't love you."

It took all my efforts to bite my tongue and not deliver what would have been an easy, parent-related low blow. "Goodbye, Malfoy," I said with dignity, as I continued up the steps.

"What? No comeback about how my parents don't love me either?" He said it like I'd thwarted some plan of his.

"You and I both know your family's obsessed with you," I replied impatiently.

Malfoy scoffed at what I said, then looked around, frowning. We had reached the seventh floor. "Isn't this where we caught your D.A. lot last year?"

"Yeah," I said as I walked back and forth in front of the blank wall.

 _I need the place where things are hidden. I need the place where things are hidden. I need the place where-_

An iron door materialized out of nowhere. I reached for the doorknob, only to have him shove past me and swing it open.

"This doesn't look like the same room," he remarked, taking in the overwhelming stacks of clutter and towers of magical knickknacks. An enormous stuffed troll seemed to serve as the room's piece-de-resistance.

Malfoy walked ahead of me, and inspected his surroundings with the sort of lissomness that only comes with practice lurking. I realized just then how the summer had changed him, not only in appearance and health, but in mannerisms. He ran his fingers ever-so-lightly over a pillar, and I watched with a captivated unrest. Maybe Harry hadn't been so off in suggesting that he was up to no good …

"Is there a password to this place?" he asked, throwing me from my fixation.

"Oh, uh … sort of. I guess." In the back of my mind, I knew it wasn't a good idea to give him access to a room so useful. "Hey, Malfoy?"

"Hm?" he asked, his attention caught by a huge black wardrobe. He slid past a broken armchair to get to it.

"You don't seem yourself this year. You know that, right?"

He turned to me, rife with agitation. Then his gaze slipped to my left. "What's all this?" he asked, pointing to the heap of magazines I had smuggled away over the course of a week.

I gaped at it with blazing cheeks. We had taken a different route through the room than I usually did, one that I didn't realize led to my hiding place. Malfoy, Slytherin that he was, didn't fail to notice that I was exhibiting every single sign of guilt.

"My, my, Zabini. Looks like someone built themselves a little library."

"I didn't mean to!" I exclaimed.

Malfoy crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows. I knew I wasn't going to get out of this without an explanation.

"Look, I wasn't going to do anything quite so … drastic. But then Fred and George bought all of Gryffindor a subscription, and Ron started highlighting it, and I was told to pass my copy on to Michael Corner of all people and …"

He gestured for me to continue, looking delighted. " _And?_ "

"And I realized that maybe I shouldn't. And neither should anyone else," I said. I held up my hand. "Before you say anything, just know that I was going to destroy them – you know, like a normal person. But, as you said, they're indestructible." I picked one up and tried setting it on fire to refresh his memory. The flames came out as nothing but a pathetic ribbon of smoke. "So I ended up keeping them all in my room."

Malfoy's eyebrows crept up.

"I know it's weird, Malfoy, don't give me that look!" I snapped. "Anyway, it got rather off-putting having five stacks of _this_ -" I pointed to the enormous picture of his face, "staring up at me while I dug around for clothes-"

"Not while you were naked, surely?" he asked pseudo-innocently, before he let his mouth twist into an evil smirk.

I growled at him and threw the magazine back into the pile. "At any rate, I had to find an alternate location before people came up with theories about why I keep your face in my trunk."

Malfoy leaned in, looking exceptionally pleased with himself. "I have a theory," he whispered.

"I'll fight you if you keep this up," I warned. He backed away with a snicker. "The problem is that this isn't a real solution. I can hide these away day and night, but people will still get their hands on them as long as they keep making it into the castle."

"What are you proposing, Zabini?"

"I was thinking of maybe talking to one of the Professors. I'm sure if we spoke to Dumbledore he'd make sure there was a proper ban. I mean, it's practically harassment, isn't it? It has to be against at least some school regulations."

He gave the same dry scoff that he had given when I asked him for a truce in second year. "I suspected there was something wrong with that brain of yours, Zabini, but I had no idea it was that bad."

He began going further into the room, clearly finished with our discussion. I stubbornly followed him.

"Malfoy, this is serious!" I insisted. "People are reading this and getting _completely_ misled about what goes on in families like ours."

I saw his shoulders tense underneath his charcoal blazer.

"So that's what this is, Zabini. 'Families like ours'. You're trying to curtail this before Mummy and Daddy end up in the press next to us."

The theory was so absurd that all I could do was throw my arms in desperation. "Out of all the bizarre, idiotic things you have said to me over the years, this has to be one of the worst! I'm doing this because you look like you've been dragged through all seven layers of hell, and you reading about how much of a screw up you are can't be helping things! Not to mention the fact that the woman's calling you a Death Eater. That's dangerous, Malfoy. Someone could take that to heart and try to really hurt you."

"What are you saying, Zabini?" he asked suspiciously. "Are you saying you don't believe her?"

"Of course I don't believe her!" I spluttered.

"And why is that?"

"Because you're an intelligent human being! Horrible, and cruel, and ferrety, yes. But intelligent."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Backhanded compliments? That's not very Gryffindor of you."

"It's the closest you'll get to a real one," I remarked, trying not to smile.

"Well despite your shitty efforts to suck up to me, I'm still going to have to tell you that if you go to Dumbledore, McGonagall or any other little friends about that column, I'll make your life impeccably difficult."

"Of course you will," I said with a tired sigh.

"I mean it."

He stared at me intensely - long enough to make me squirm - then disappeared among the stacks. I took this as his departure, and left to look for my bat. As I picked apart my surroundings, I tried to think of loopholes to what Malfoy had said … maybe there was someone more permissible I could go to with this. Someone that I didn't consider a friend …

It was no more than ten minutes later that I heard a sharp sigh behind me.

"Bloody Potter can't do anything right," muttered Malfoy as he (to my greatest surprise yet) took my hand and shoved a Beater's bat into it.

I blinked at him.

"Don't look so shocked, Zabini. Sabotaging Potty and the Weasel is something I've always enjoyed. It just so happens that today, I enjoy it marginally better than sabotaging you." He smirked at my reaction. "And that's the closest _you'll_ get to a real compliment."

"Um … thank you?"

"For what?" he called over his shoulder. He was already heading for the exit. "You can cling to that bat all you want, it still doesn't change the fact that you're miserable at using it."

Compared to how things usually went, this practically made us bosom buddies.


	7. Vital Shifts and Secret Tunnels

a/n:

 **Okay, we've finally reached the last of the setup chapters (in my opinion) and the plotline can finally take off next chapter. I know I posted super recently, but I didn't want you guys to wait for this. Compromise for a slow beginning, yeah? =)**

 **As always, thanks for all you do!**

 **All disclaimers still stand.**

 **~Anna**

* * *

"Miss Zabini, I will take this opportunity to remind you that I am a busy man, and that I do not wish to sit here making prolonged eye contact in silence. You cornered me citing an 'urgent matter'. You have little more than three seconds left to tell me what it is."

I cleared my throat whilst simultaneously regretting my life choices.

"Er… yes Professor Snape. I assume you know Draco Malfoy."

"I do not appreciate the cheek, Zabini," he said menacingly.

I gulped inaudibly, though I was sure he noticed anyway. "I wasn't – I didn't mean-"

" _Any_ minute now."

"I think Rita Skeeter's column should be banned from the school," I blurted, all at once.

He crossed his arms and stared me down under the flickering candlelight of his office. After a moment of consideration, the nostrils of his large nose flared. "Well, well. What has our famous 'Golden Trio' put you up to now, Zabini?"

"Nothing!"

He scoffed. "Don't lie to me. They're always around, those friends of yours, to stick their noses into things beyond their concern. And this is just the kind of thing that is _beyond your concern_."

"Haven't you seen the column?" I spluttered.

"If Draco has apprehensions, he will come to me himself. I sincerely doubt he's got you here on his behalf."

"Of course he won't come to you; he's Malfoy! He doesn't come to anyone for anything!" I insisted. "But that still doesn't change the fact that there's a magazine circulating around our school saying that he's a Death Eater-"

"Watch yourself, Zabini. We don't want to make unfounded allegations now, do we? It might land us in trouble."

I gaped at him, lost for words. More seconds slid by. "What you said in class about me hoping he'd get hurt – you really meant it," I said shakily.

"As a matter of fact I did."

I felt the sting of insult. "Well I don't. That's a sick thing to hope for, _Professor_."

"I have seen you two go at it for years like the spoiled and bratty children you are. One of you seems to have grown up, and the other is sitting in my office with a nasty trick up their sleeve."

I crossed my arms. "With all due respect, if Skeeter's column keeps circulating around the school, I won't be the one people think has something nasty up their sleeve."

Snape acted like he hadn't heard me. "Perhaps you feel it's alright to continue doing this; perhaps you even think that it's fun. But I assure you that nobody has time for your antics anymore. Draco is busy considering his future-"

"What, like he'll have one after this? Who's going to hire a Death Eater?"

As if on cue, the headmaster appeared in the doorway. "Am I intruding, Severus?"

"No. Miss Zabini here was just leaving." He cast me an unpleasant jerk of the head to tell me to get out.

"No, I wasn't."

"This matter needs no more discussion, you stubborn girl. I'll give you the same answer I give Potter, Weasley and Granger when they start to act out: mind your own affairs."

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "May I enquire about the subject of this most fascinating conversation?"

Snape's mouth thinned. "Of course. Miss Zabini here has decided to-"

"From Heidi," corrected the headmaster with a polite smile.

Wordlessly, I dug into my bag and pulled out the object in question. "People are reading these. And believing them. They're accusing Malfoy of being a Death Eater, they're talking about his mother's drinking problem, and they're getting more awful with each passing week. Someone's going to end up hurting him if this keeps up." I paused. "I was hoping to get them banned before they do."

"I never thought you considered Draco a friend, Heidi," said Dumbledore.

Snape sneered.

"I don't consider him a friend, Professor," I admitted. "Only a human being."

"I see." Dumbledore took the article and adjusted his glasses. His frown grew with every sentence. "I realize what you mean, Miss Zabini. These are disturbing accusations indeed."

"Headmaster, if we were to announce a ban, it would only cause the students to search for them harder. Remember last year, when Potter slandered the names of every prominent wizarding family in that magazine of Lovegood's? It only took Umbridge passing one of those decrees of hers to have The Quibbler end up in the hands of every student."

"Excuse me but Harry didn't 'slander' anybody; everything he said about them was true - that's the whole difference," I dissented.

"That may be, but I'm afraid I agree with Severus," said Dumbledore as he handed the tabloid back to me. "Youth often craves that which authority has forbidden. However, your concerns have not fallen on deaf ears - though at my age they really ought to be. I will find a remedy."

"Thank you, sir," I said. I rose from the chair, which was so uncomfortable that my tailbone had lost all feeling. I wondered if Snape had chosen it on purpose, so nobody stayed for longer than a minute. I looked at my watch. I had been there, defending Malfoy, for forty. I swallowed nervously and turned back to the two. "Um … Malfoy doesn't have to _know_ I came here, does he?"

With a small smile, the headmaster shook his head. I looked to Snape to see if he'd make the same agreement. He sat, thin-lipped and hook-nosed and - most importantly - silent.

I bit my lip, hoping I wouldn't have to beg.

"I just don't want him to-"

"Do not worry, Heidi. Professor Snape understands very well what it's like to despise revealing the best in oneself. He won't say a word," assured Dumbledore.

I muttered my thanks and scrambled out of the office, caught between feeling like a small winner and a huge traitor.

When I opened the newspaper the next morning, Skeeter's insert was nowhere to be found. Merlin, if my friends only knew …

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

Today was destined to be an awful one for two reasons: one, it was the day I'd get to see if my Herbology assignment had - quite literally – survived. Two, it was the day I'd get to see if Malfoy knew I'd meddled when he warned me not to. In that case, the plant would probably be in better shape.

I said a silent prayer in front of the doors of Greenhouse Six, and crept in. Malfoy was already behind our workbench, looking just as bored as always, but much less sickly.

"Hi."

He raised an eyebrow. "If you want."

I rolled my eyes and set my books down. "The proper thing to say is 'hello'."

"Is it? I thought the proper thing to say is 'I told you not to stick your nose in my business'." He crossed his arms and raised his eyebrows, waiting for an answer. " _Well?_ " he drawled impatiently.

"I have a good explanation, Malfoy, I swear."

"Doing something idiotic because pictures of my face are staring up at you definitely doesn't qualify."

I shushed him, looking around to see if anyone had heard.

"I told you not to go Dumbledore, didn't I? I know you're many things, Zabini, most of them annoying. But I never thought you were a liar."

"For your information, I didn't _go_ to Dumbledore!" I whispered indignantly. "I went to Snape!"

He warped his face into a look of skeptical confusion. "You went to who?"

"You heard me, Malfoy. So don't you dare lecture me about this, because it was hard enough!"

His eyebrows had shot up so high they were half-hidden by his bangs. "And what does Potter and his Weasel think of this?"

"They don't know," I mumbled, cheeks ablaze. I took our miniature Love-Lies-Bleeding off of its shelf in an effort to feel busy and nipped off the dying red tassels.

"It needs more growth serum," said Malfoy dismissively, before returning to the subject of interest. "What do you mean they don't know?"

"What do you think I mean?" I snapped, as I felt blindly in our drawer for the bottle of serum. I took out a dropper and dunked it in.

"And what has suddenly possessed you to keep secrets about me from the Golden – what the hell are you _–_ _use the small dropper, Zabini!_ " he barked suddenly, closing his hand over mine to stop me from accidentally murdering our group project. I squeaked and sent the vial to the floor by mistake, where it shattered into tiny glass splinters.

Madam Sprout turned her attention away from Sophie Roper and Pauline Yarrow to give me a sympathetic look.

Malfoy repaired the bottle, shook his head at me, and muttered something in a tone that suggested he had given up on this union ever being a decent idea.

"Shut up, Malfoy! The least you can do is say thank you."

"No, Zabini. The least I can do is abstain from killing you," he said arrogantly. "I think I'm doing a stunning job, don't you?"

He took the correct dropper and doled out seven little drops of serum in a circle, counting each one under his breath. "Pass me the tar."

I stood, rooted to the ground, trying to understand what I was playing witness to. Surely he wasn't _actually_ cooperating in class? Surely he wasn't behaving like a normal, capable partner?

"Zabini, I said-"

I set the tar in front of him, and continued staring, curious to see just when this would go wrong. But it never did. He remained silent but cooperative all day, and as we parted ways for dinner without a single bruise or missing body part, I couldn't help but sense that there had been some kind of vital shift in the way that we treated each other.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

I jumped as I heard the door to our dormitory swing open and slam just as rapidly. Hermione stormed in, dripping with stress.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Like hell I am. Ronald's being an idiot."

I tried to act surprised at this announcement, which she'd been making at least bi-weekly since First Year. "What happened?"

"He's accusing me of going to McGonagall about that magazine of Skeeter's and getting it banned!" she huffed.

I felt my eyes go wide and shoved a chocolate frog into my mouth before I could blurt anything incriminating. I followed her around the room with my gaze as she dizzyingly paced from window to door.

"I mean, it's utterly ludicrous. He really thinks I'd go and rat him and his brothers out to a teacher over _Malfoy_. Do I think Malfoy's gone off the deep end this year? Yes. Do I think he should stop taking potions that could kill him? Probably. Do I care enough to actually take time out of my day and pursue it? Absolutely not! But of course, Ron doesn't believe me, ever since his subscription stopped coming in the mail. I told him it was possible a professor had confiscated them when they hit the grounds, and he decided that meant I was behind it."

"Maybe Snape did it," I said. "Without anyone telling him to."

"That's what I said! I told them both they were being paranoid idiots, and that it could have been anyone from Slytherin."

"What did they say to that?" I asked.

"I don't know, I ran up here."

She collapsed onto the foot of her bed, having worn herself out, and looked around. Her eyes stopped at a set of drawn golden drapes. "Heidi?"

"Hmm?" I asked, unwrapping another frog. I threw the card over my shoulder, disinterested.

"What's behind those curtains?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, a window, probably."

She shook her head. "They'd be red like the others, not gold."

I pushed myself off the bed, sending a pile of purple wrappers to the floor, and pulled the drapes back to reveal a wooden door. I opened it to find a mop perched against one corner, and a bucket in another.

"See? Broom closet," I said to Hermione, who looked thoroughly unconvinced.

" _Lumos!_ " she cast, before stepping in. She went to the back wall and knocked thrice. "It's hollow."

Unable to resist adventure, I ran in after her and rapped on the wall. "You're right. This leads to something."

Hermione traced her fingers over the false bricks, searching for an openable seam or some other flaw in the construction. She had made it all the way to the floor, before letting out a victorious gasp. "I found something! _Alohamora._ "

We watched as the wall disappeared, opening into a dank, stone tunnel.

Hermione swallowed nervously.

"You know, maybe we shouldn't. This is the dungeons, after all. They could be keeping something down there…"

"What, like Snape's dance class?" I joked.

She rolled her eyes at me. "I was thinking more along the lines of something that could _kill_ us. You know, like a three-headed dog. Or a basilisk."

"Oh, my mistake. I'm sure Snape's dance class would leave you with minimal residual damage."

"Shut up," she sniffed, before taking me by the elbow and walking us through the semi-darkness. It took us a good five minutes to reach another door, which opened into a broom closet just like the one we'd first gone into.

"Wait! Do you hear that?" asked Hermione. A dull but steady rumbling vibrated through the room, seeming to come from the exit ahead of us.

"Open it slowly," I breathed, having suddenly gotten cold feet about the whole endeavor.

She raised an eyebrow at me that all but said 'I told you so'. I raised my wand, ready to curse whatever was on the other side.

All we saw was green.

Not a flash of green light, which would have been preferable given what we'd stumbled upon, but green _things_ : green curtains, green bedding, green pajama bottoms. Green pajama bottoms on great, fat legs.

"Heidi … is that …"

To say that we'd found Crabbe sleeping on his bed like a baby would be a bit of an overstatement; although the fetal position was vaguely decipherable, and the quantity of drool was pretty much the same, he looked less like a dozing infant and more like a troll that had finally been placated.

My eyes went to a silver trunk at the foot of the bed beside Crabbe's, and, as predicted, found my brother's name engraved on its side.

"Are we where we think we are?" I asked in a whisper. "Oh my god, Hermione, we _have_ to go before Malfoy comes back!" I grabbed Hermione by the arm and started tugging her backwards.

"Why Malfoy?" she asked.

I didn't quite know how to tell her that between keeping his face in my trunk, and going to my most despised teacher on his behalf, him finding me at the foot of his bed (I could tell, because he'd left his sweater on it) might lead to some questions about just how obsessed with him I had become.


	8. Sleeves

a/n:

 **Ahhh it's only been a week, but it feels like I haven't posted in forever!**

 **Thank you Wowom for a very sweet review. It got me smiling the whole way to Uni! I'm really relieved that what I'm aiming for is coming across in my writing. I agree with you that Malfoy is usually portrayed as dark and swoon-worthy (and many writers pull that off very well) but I'd like to sort of explore the more relatable aspects of the mess he's gotten into. That's probably why I chose to make a character that grew up with him and thus knows him better than the trio, but one that's always been relatively skeptical of him, unlike his Slytherin friends. I think it allows for a bit of a different angle.**

 **On a related note, when I first started writing this, the HBP book had just come out and the Zabinis were _very_ vague characters. For that reason, some details about them (appearance and otherwise) are not canon at all, but I couldn't bring myself to change them because they've been in my head like that for the longest time. Hopefully it's not too jarring for you guys, and if it is … sowwee :P**

 **ALSO – the language in this one is a little less PG-13 in just a few sentences, so if you're offended at that kind of thing, or your mother frowns upon it, you might want to skip this one.**

 **As always, thanks to everyone for reviewing, favouriting, following, and just generally showing up. It's nice to know I'm not just talking to myself every week in cyberspace ;)**

 **~ Anna (who owns nothing recognizable in this story, unlike J.K. Rowling)**

* * *

"Harry, stop pacing, we'll all do fine!" pleaded Ginny as he treaded circles in the grass by the changing rooms.

"Wait, can you explain how to do that weird Quaffle blocking thing again? The one with the elbow?"

" _Ron!_ " snarled Ginny, giving her brother a baleful glare.

Harry stopped short and wheeled around.

"Was he – was that a joke?" he demanded. "Because if it was, I'll kill him!"

"No thanks," said Ron with a sheepish smile.

I hid my giggle out of respect for Harry's current disposition, and resorted to looking out at the stands. They were filled to capacity, no doubt because of the unusually warm autumn weather. But even the sunshine couldn't calm our captain, who'd been brooding over the other team's allegedly 'revolutionary' tactics since last night.

"Look, this match isn't to be taken lightly; I saw them practicing yesterday - the Slytherins. They're all in good shape, even Malfoy. That's why it's important that we fly tight today with as little deviating from formation as possible. I-"

"Teams to the pitch, please," boomed Madam Hooch's voice. "I repeat: teams to the pitch."

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them again, he was unrecognizably calm – so much so that it was contagious.

"Everything aside, you guys are brilliant. I couldn't have asked for better players. Truly. So let's show those snakes what a real game of Quidditch is all about!"

We hooted happily in response and hurried onto the pitch, where seven figures in emerald green robes were entering from the opposite end. Urquhart was leading them, looking bloodthirsty. As we lined up to mount our brooms, Malfoy gave my Cleansweep a pointed look and smirked. Urquhart quickly caught on to the joke.

"Nice broom, Zabini. Pretty sure I saw one of my house-elves use it to sweep."

"Funny, I could say the same thing about your hair," I said as I got onto it in one fluid motion, bat in hand. If we destroyed them fast enough, I'd still have time to ask Tonks about the difference between treating Doxy bites and Pixie bites…

Thirty minutes later, we were seventy points over the Slytherins, and at least thirty of those were thanks to me. Even Blaise was getting pissed enough to throw some elbows.

"Brilliant, Heidi!" shouted Harry as he sped past me to tail Malfoy. I had just sent a Bludger straight at Vaisey's broom, and it met its mark with a satisfying clack. Meanwhile, Malfoy had done a full circle, bringing him dangerously close to me.

"Watch yourself, Zabini. Wouldn't want to get thrown from that twig of yours," he called over his shoulder.

"You're the one who-"

I froze, lips parted. His sleeve had billowed back while he was making his veiled threats, and the sunlight had been at just the right angle to draw my eye to some sort of mar on his arm, too intricate to be a bruise. Malfoy hadn't noticed my hesitation, and sped away, leaving me halted in mid-air.

"Heidi, are you okay?" shouted Ginny.

But shock had narrowed my interests, and without thinking, I turned my broom away from the Bludger I was chasing and towards Malfoy. One by one, my teammates caught on to the fact that something was off. And one by one, they lost focus.

The time that Harry took to tell me to get back to my side of the pitch was the time that it took for Malfoy's hand to clasp around the Snitch. As it happened, I felt something collide with my broom fast and hard.

On my plummet to the ground, I saw a wave of kids in green burst into victorious screams. They chanted Malfoy's name as if they hadn't been throwing dirt on it just hours before, and I'd have laughed at the irony if it didn't feel like my back had shattered into a million pieces – and that was with Hooch's cushioning spell. My broom landed next to me in two parts, which might have been the only upside as far as Harry was concerned.

"What the hell happened back there, Heidi?" he demanded as he hovered over me.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Oh, Merlin, Harry I am _so_ sorry." I was in tears, if only from the pain alone.

Harry's face softened.

"It's okay. Do you need Pomfrey?"

"She'll be fine," said Madam Hooch, as she pushed her way through to me; the rest of my team had zoomed in to interrogate me about my well-being, and in doing so, had formed a near-impenetrable circle. "Any pain in your head?" she asked.

I shook it.

"See any spots? Hear any ringing?"

"No."

"How many fingers?" she asked as she thrust her open hand in my face.

"Er … five."

"Good girl. Can you walk?"

I shrugged and slowly lifted myself up off the ground. I took three steps forward. "Guess so," I said, wincing through the pain.

Hooch nodded. "Excellent. You're fully intact. Though you should probably drop by the Hospital Wing for some Wiggenweld Potion." With that, she left to cater to the Slytherins, who were celebrating their win.

But one of them had broken away from the team to find me.

"What's the damage?" asked Blaise impatiently as he pushed through the crowd around me, which had grown to incorporate Neville, Hermione, Anthony and Hagrid.

"Just my broom."

He shook his head in vexation. "Mother better not pin this on me or I swear to Merlin…"

"Well don't tell her, genius!" I exclaimed.

He gave another scoff of irritation and left. Over Katie's shoulder, I saw Malfoy on the other side of the pitch, surrounded by a pack of Slytherin girls. The rest of his team, less successful in attracting their own harems, had resigned themselves to the changing rooms.

"You sure you're okay?" asked Neville, with a hand on my aching shoulder. I tried not to show the sharpness of my pain.

"Yeah. Yeah, you guys go on. I'd like to be by myself for a bit."

"It wasn't your fault," said Hermione quickly. "That broom's really out of shape. I'm not surprised you lost control of it. Please don't blame yourself."

She had clearly mistaken my intention to corner Malfoy alone for my need to ruminate over our failure.

"Hermione's right," said Harry. "It was about time."

"Ain't nuthin' good comin' out of tha Cleansweep name nowadays," said Hagrid. "Bunch o' branches charmed ter fly if yeh ask me."

I nodded.

"Thanks, you guys. I'll see you all later, okay?" I said, before my gaze went back to Malfoy. He was still outside, talking to his 'fans'. Either he was now dating about a thousand years out of his age range, or he was stalling so that he'd have the changing rooms to himself.

Slowly, the crowd around me dissolved, with Anthony (who had said nothing the entire time, but stared at me like I was an abandoned puppy he had found on his porch) being the last to go. I picked up my broom and, under pretense of trying to fix it, lingered. After what seemed like forever, the Slytherin team filed out of the locker rooms, and Malfoy separated himself from his groupies to go change. My heart began to pound. I had to see what was under that sleeve, but I could never take him on physically, and _Stupefying_ him from behind seemed too brutish. I needed a plan – a trick, maybe. And then it came to me.

I dropped the pieces of my broom and ran.

I caught him just as he finished pulling his shirt on, and silently cursed at the fact that he was already clothed – a first for me, I must admit.

 _So Plan B it is._

"Hey, Malfoy," I said, trying to sound normal.

He wheeled around sharply, then breathed an obvious sigh of relief. "Really, Zabini? That desperate to catch a glimpse?"

I realized he had left his wand in the pocket of his Quidditch robes, which were on a nearby bench. Perfect.

"Uh-huh," I said distractedly, before it registered. "I mean no! I'm just here to congratulate you."

He raised a mistrustful eyebrow. "Congratulate me?"

"Well you won, didn't you?"

"Clearly and unsurprisingly," he said, smirking. "But I still don't see your point."

"Con…gra…tu…la…tions," I patronized, before smiling and sticking out my hand.

He looked down at it the way a person looks at a medical anomaly.

"You're such a drama queen, Malfoy. Just shake it," I said, hoping to Merlin I sounded innocent. "It's a gesture; it means I'm admitting you're good."

That, Malfoy couldn't resist.

The moment his left hand went into mine, I snapped into action and pushed up his sleeve with my other one. He couldn't throw me off fast enough for the damage to be evaded. There it was, open to be seen: a raw-looking tattoo of a snake in a skull.

He pushed me back so hard I nearly toppled over, but I knew his next move, and I was ready for it.

" _Expelliarmus!"_ I shouted, and the wand he had gone for soared into my hand.

We stayed there for infinity, gray eyes on blue, and I was surprised to feel a monstrous disappointment swell inside me.

"When?" I demanded.

"None of your fucking concern."

"Why?" I shot, just as quickly. "What could you possibly have hoped to achieve?"

"None of your fuc-"

"I thought things were getting better, Malfoy! I thought we were finally getting – and then you go and – oh you complete _idiot_. All this time, I…" I looked at him, aghast. "I defended you to _everyone_ , I thought Skeeter was being a complete _nutter_ and then you go and-"

"I didn't ask you to do shit, Zabini. That's on you," he warned, pointing at me threateningly. "Your bleeding heart, your problem."

"Malfoy, you have no idea what you got yourself into," I said quietly.

Faster than I could react, his hands were over my shoulders, nails digging in so hard it was all I could do not to whimper.

"Don't you dare tell me I don't know what this necessitates, Zabini, _don't you fucking dare!_ I'm not going to be judged by you of all people, with your perfect life, and your perfect parents, and your perfect friends. You haven't seen shit."

I squeezed my hands around his wrists just as hard, until he was forced to let me go. "You don't know what I've seen Malfoy," I said. "And if you want to keep respecting your father, I suggest you don't ask."

His face contorted into the coldest fury I'd seen on him yet. "If I were alone in a room with a Death Eater, I'd elaborate on that last one."

I laughed, though it was really to keep from crying. "Let's just say it didn't matter how many of my birthday parties he'd gone to, or how long he'd known my parents, or the fact that I begged. When push came to shove, that father of yours tried to kill me anyway. And if he could have, he would have."

Malfoy attempted to remain stoic, and it would have worked, had I not seen the nanosecond of discomfort flash across his face.

"I know," I said, voicing what I was sure he was thinking. "I thought the Zabinis' girl was off limits too."

He swallowed audibly and looked away. "Give me my wand."

"Or what? You'll call 'The Dark Lord' to kill me? Maybe you'll do it yourself. Go on, Malfoy. Merlin knows you've been waiting for the day."

I put my hands up in mock-surrender. I knew I was pushing it, pushing him, but he had to understand. This wasn't a game – these people dueled to kill, always and without exception.

"You can drop the heroics, Zabini," he said arrogantly. "Because I know you're afraid of dying whether you act like it or not."

"No, you idiot!" I spat. "Don't you get it? If anything, I'm afraid of killing!"

When he didn't make a move to hurt me, I threw him his wand.

"You haven't seen it in action yet, Malfoy, but you will. And I hope to Merlin you won't like it. Or I'm wrong about the shred of humanity I see in you."

Naïve as always, I turned to leave.

" _Expelliarmus!_ "

My own wand went shooting into his hand faster than I could stop it. He grinned victoriously.

"Not so fun when it's you in the corner, is it? Now it's your turn to listen. You don't tell anyone what you just saw, you don't meddle in what you just saw, and you _definitely_ don't speak to me about my father." He touched his wand to the base of my throat, pushing just enough for an uncomfortable lump to rise in it. "Maybe I should do a little magic just to make sure."

I glared up at him. "Do what you want. But don't you dare think I'll beg you." I pushed myself into his wand just so he could hear me perfectly as I whispered. "Begging doesn't _work_ on you people."

He sneered at me. "What 'people'? Death Eaters?"

"Malfoys."

He looked down at my neck with lips parted, the gears in his head clearly turning. I could feel his mint-laced breaths bounce off my face; they missed a beat every now and then when he failed to keep his anticipation in check. I wondered if comparing him to his father had struck a nerve.

He gave me one last glance and retracted his wand, muttering offhandedly that I wasn't worth it.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

Over the next few days, Malfoy and I went through a complete and total regression. What little peace we had managed between us was taken over by an unendurable savagery. By the end of it, I couldn't even look at him, and to make it that much easier, he boycotted class completely.

The truth was that I couldn't look at him because every time I tried, I felt an inexplicable urge to cry. But Malfoy didn't know that. He had no idea how distraught and furious I was that Voldemort had finally taken one of ours. After all, Draco Malfoy was supposed to be the school's honorary Slytherin jerk, not someone I'd have to face in war; not someone I'd have to kill, lest he get me first. It had turned out to be a nearly unbearable truth, and I resolved to do everything I could not to bear it, starting with the most obvious solution: running from it entirely.

"I can't work with him anymore, Professor. I really can't," I pleaded.

"I understand your feelings. Yet I must ask the reason behind them," said Dumbledore.

"We're completely different, Sir."

He considered me with a sage smile. "On the surface, very much so."

"Not just on the surface, believe me," I insisted.

"Perhaps you could elaborate?"

I didn't know how, short of spelling out the fact that the kid signed up with the most evil wizard of our time. "We have … irreconcilable differences," I said finally, wondering vaguely where I'd heard that term used before.

The headmaster laughed. "Ah yes, that does get in the way of a union." He sighed pensively and looked at Fawkes. "And is this truly what you want?"

"Yes, Professor Dumbledore," I said unhesitatingly.

"Then I have no choice. Come Sunday, I will grant your request."

"Sunday, Sir?" I asked.

"As Sunday is the day before Monday, it seems most appropriate to confirm changes for the school week on exactly that day." He pushed a bowl of sherbet lemons at me, and smiled. "But as luck would have it, today is only Friday."

I nodded, though I wasn't sure how that impacted anything.

"Alas, I was hoping you would grant me a final favour."

"Of course, Professor. Anything," I said, reaching for a sweet.

"Draco Malfoy is visiting his father in Azkaban tomorrow. I would like you to go with him."


	9. Words Less Awful

a/n:

 **I ended up working on this far longer than I should have today, given the stacks of homework I have yet to do, but I really didn't want my updates to become irregular. So yay! Finished product! =D**

 **I want to thank all of you for the sweet reviews you left, and continue to leave. They really stick with me, and keep me on task when it comes to deadlines. That, and they make me feel all fuzzy when I read them!**

 **And for those of you that don't review, I love you just the same for showing up and taking a peek at whatever nonsense I've managed to fit into 2500 words that week! ;)**

 **Hope you're all well.**

 **~ You Know Who (no, not Voldemort. And not J. K. Rowling, to who anything you recognize belongs)**

* * *

"Azkaban? With Malfoy? But … but what for?"

"For yourself," Dumbledore said. "This is Lucius' last scheduled visit before he is due to get the Kiss. If I am not mistaken, you have been stripped of your chance to tell him your views on his actions many times."

"Yes, but I don't _want_ to tell Lucius Malfoy my views on him, or on his actions," I asserted.

"You underestimate the value of closure, Miss Zabini."

Any discernable way out of this was slowly disappearing. I knew that no matter my argument, Dumbledore would find a way to refute it. Still, I tried.

"But isn't it a little invasive? I mean, it _is_ Malfoy's last chance to see his father. I'm quite probably the last person he'd want to have around."

Dumbledore considered this.

"You know, I have learned that sometimes it's necessary to invade; so long as you do it with respect."

This made no more sense than anything he usually said, and I could do nothing else but sit and try to decipher the meaning of these cryptic words.

"There is also the matter of safety – Draco's, not yours."

"What do you mean?"

"The Ministry are not such great fans of the Malfoys like they once were. With the Dementors so thirsty, it would not be surprising if the Ministry worker accompanying Draco turned a rather blind eye if something should happen," he explained solemnly. "However, if someone else were with him, I can guarantee that he would not be quite so negligent."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"Oh, I know old Frank Kerrigan quite well – he's a good friend of Mundungus Fletcher's, actually. Wonderful Gobstones player, but a little lacking in common moral decency. You see, he has a certain habit of picking and choosing who to save more than he ought to, as Mister Malfoy learned last time."

But before I could ask for specifics, the office door slid open to let Malfoy in.

"Ah, there you are, Draco. Good evening."

Malfoy gave a miniscule nod and, once again, took a chair beside me. How many more times would we be called together behind the headmaster's desk to do something completely mental?

"I apologize for taking so long to contemplate your request to visit your father. It was not a matter of if, but of how."

Malfoy said nothing.

"You are cleared to go tomorrow, as you had hoped."

"What's the catch? You said there would be one."

"I like to think of it as less of a catch, and more of a condition," said Dumbledore. "And that condition is that Heidi must come with you."

I waited for the eruption, silently hoping Malfoy would scream enough threats to put an end to this god-awful idea. Maybe this would finally be the day his mouth got me out of trouble instead of into it.

"Alright."

I turned straight to him. It was the first time we had made eye contact for at least five days, and that included the few times he was in class. _'Alright?_ ' I mouthed. If I looked anything like how I felt, then I did _not_ look good.

"Wonderful," said Dumbledore. "You have learned how to cast a full-bodied Patronus, correct, Heidi?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Everyone in Dumbledore's Army learned how to do it."

The headmaster looked visibly touched. "Forgive me. I shall never get used to hearing that name, or cease feeling humbled by it, I must admit. I am so very proud of you all."

The statement made it infinitely harder to do what I wanted to: explain to him that under no circumstances, dead, alive, or possessed, would I ever go to Azkaban with Draco Malfoy _ever_.

"So we're allowed wands?" I asked, feeling somewhat relieved by this - albeit tiny - silver lining.

"No." It was Malfoy that said it. "Not in the visiting chamber. Only in the tunnels."

"What tunnels?"

"They take you underground so that you don't have to go past the prisoners. Zabini, you didn't think you could just walk through the front doors and say hello to society's finest did you?" he demanded, his voice full of condescension.

I shrugged, feeling a little bit ashamed. I had always assumed that was how it worked - mostly because life never forced me to know otherwise. The only prisoner I had ever mingled with had been one of the best men I knew, and a role model in my own ongoing rebellion against familial expectations. I had forgotten that Sirius' fellow inmates were people I was better off not walking past, or looking at, or knowing about.

Malfoy was looking like he very much wanted to trade me in for someone useful. But his sneering lips were firmly shut.

"Heidi, would you mind casting a Patronus?" asked Dumbledore, breaking through the silence.

"A Patronus? Right now?"

Dumbledore nodded.

I glanced uneasily at Malfoy, who quirked an eyebrow at me, clearly unconvinced. Well, I'd bloody show _him!_ I cleared my throat and raised my wand.

"Perhaps aim it away from Mister Malfoy," said Dumbledore.

I blushed and moved my wand away from the direction of Malfoy's chest and to an unoccupied corner of the room. "Sorry," I mumbled. "Habit, I guess…"

I shut my eyes and visualized the day I got sorted into Gryffindor.

" _Expecto Patronum!"_

A silver stream shot from my wand and rearranged itself into its corporeal form, which I hoped would disappear before anyone saw what it was. No such luck.

Dumbledore laughed heartily. "How marvelous! I should have known! A penguin!"

"Well don't I feel safe now," said Malfoy bitterly. "An obese bird that can't even fly."

"Patronuses don't need to fly, Malfoy," I chided.

"They need to do something other than waddle."

"Well what does yours do, then? Run away from the Dementors to fight the nearest First year instead?" I snapped.

It felt right to squabble with him again after days of radio silence - like normality had been somehow reestablished. But it hadn't. As quickly as I had caught a glimpse of his old self, he went back to being unaffected by the provocations that once would have worked brilliantly.

That was how much he needed to say his goodbyes to his father.

Feeling somewhat ashamed of my obtuse childishness, I shut my mouth and sat back down.

"Very well, children. We have reached a consensus. You will meet tomorrow before sunrise to ride a carriage to Hogsmeade Station. The Hogwarts Express will be waiting there to take you to London, where you will travel to the Ministry by car. As I have already told Heidi, the man you are meeting is called Mr. Kerrigan. I believe you have already met him, Draco. He will be supervising you the entire time in Azkaban once more, as is customary with the Ministry."

"Should I write to my parents to let them know where I'll be?" I asked.

"The moment you say yes, I'll send an owl myself," said Dumbledore.

"And … if I say no?"

I looked at Malfoy out of the corner of my eye. He was staring tensely at the floor.

"Then I will have to cancel all arrangements for both of you."

I exhaled a weary breath. "No, don't do that; I'll go."

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

Dawn came prematurely, I was sure. Someone who despised me must have had the sunrise rigged.

I tugged on a scuffed pair of boots, dull-looking jeans and a jumper, and made my way out to the dungeons, careful not to wake one of the girls. When I saw Malfoy, I knew immediately I had made a grave mistake in interpreting the dress code. He was clad for a funeral as always, but everything on him was immaculate, creaseless … perfect. He wore a thick black travelling cloak and gloves of dragon leather, and his hair, which was usually free to fall on his face, was smoothed carefully away. If I didn't know any better, I'd have thought him a force to be reckoned with.

"Should I go change?" I asked uncertainly.

"There isn't time."

"But you're all … fancy," I remarked.

"Out of respect for my father. Are _you_ interested in paying him your respect?" he asked pointedly.

"Guess not," I mumbled.

"I didn't think so. So let's go."

I followed him out the doors, where a lone carriage was waiting for us. I muttered a hello at the Thestral guiding it. I had only been able to see them for a few months, and although they were in many ways hideous, I acknowledged them whenever I could. After all, there's nothing worse than being used but ignored.

"Who were you talking to? Just then?" demanded Malfoy as he climbed into the carriage after me.

I blinked at him. "The Thest…ral… Wait, you _still_ can't see them?"

He scoffed. "What, you think you're better than me just because you can see some stupid death horse? Don't make me laugh."

"You're right, Malfoy. How silly of me to think that death is in the job description."

He glared and adjusted his cloak. I was starting to regret not bringing one myself. As the carriage pulled away, a silence came over us that was as bitter and brittle as the chill in the air. Multiple times, I opened my mouth to say something he'd have cursed me for – like if the girls were enjoying his 'cool new tat' – but the way he was staring at the carriage floor convinced me he was contemplating something bigger than him, or me, or any petty thing I could say. So I kept quiet.

I hoped I was being discreet as I took him in, because looking away wasn't an option. I'd never seen him like this. He wasn't plotting; plotting made him smirk and boast with childish glee. No, he was planning, the way I'd seen my parents, or the Order, or Dumbledore do. Gone were the traces of childhood from his face. And gone was my self-assurance.

"Could I ask you something?" My voice sounded much smaller than usual.

"No."

"Alright," I said, wilting back in my seat somewhat.

He took me in with obvious aggravation and, against his usual judgment, asked me what I wanted.

"Oh, I was just wondering if there was a screen separating the visiting room. Or a window. Or, you know, some metal bars."

"No, it's an open room. Why?"

"So um … so he could reach out and … touch us? Theoretically?"

Malfoy must have realized what this was really about, because he let out a sharp breath. "Drop it, Zabini. No one's going to touch you."

"Oh." I let another stretch of silence trickle by. "And the Dementors, do they float around freely?"

"Only in some-"

"Which parts?"

"The cages, Zabini."

"Oh." Another silence. "And what are the ca-"

"Zabini, enough!" He cursed under his breath. "What are you, scared all of a sudden? No more Gryffindor lectures about bravery being the best protection? Scared of the Dementors, are you?"

I huddled into myself. "No," I muttered. "Not of the Dementors."

We rode the train in different compartments, in an unspoken agreement to deal with this alone. As the scenery outside became a blur of autumn hues, I felt my lids go heavy; worrying had worn me out. But the slumber I fell into wasn't peaceful.

 _"_ _Never expected to be seeing you here, little Heidi Zabini."_

 _I scrambled backwards, the glass of destroyed prophecies crunching under my feet. My wand was stuck under a shelf meters out of reach._

 _"_ _Well, it looks like you'll be missing dinner at the Manor this month. A shame, really. But I'll give Narcissa your best."_

 _"_ _P-please," I croaked, in a voice that seemed nothing like my own. "M-my parents. They don't know I'm h-here. Mister Malfoy,_ please _!"_

 _His white face contorted into a sneer, rendered colder by the blue light of the room. Somewhere near me someone squirmed on the floor, but I didn't know if it was one of us or one of them._

 _"_ _Your parents?" Lucius said quietly. "But you should have thought of your parents much sooner, instead of following Potter to whatever childish heroics he had planned."_

 _He jerked his wand and it felt like something dull and hard hit my forehead, causing it to gash above my brow. I yelped in pain, my heart threating to split just like my forehead had. I had never been this afraid. All I could do was beg, until my whimpered and repeated 'pleases' had lost all meaning. And when they did, Lucius Malfoy began to raise his wand once more, and mutter the words that would end it._

 _"_ _Avada-"_

 _"_ _Come on, Zabini! Just get up!"_

 _The voice, foreign though it was, had given me a brilliant idea._ Up _! All I had to do was get up! But as I tried, my body swung annoyingly back and forth, like the hands of some deity were rattling me awake._

 _"_ _Stop it!" I yelled to no one. "I have to get up!"_

 _I grabbed frenetically at the air above me, and when my hands had trapped what felt like a face, I opened my eyes to find that God was Draco Malfoy._

It took a moment for my brain to recouple with my body, and while I waited to gain control of my hands, they remained firmly around Malfoy's anxious face. Grabbing him must have caused him to lose his balance, for he was halfway on top of me, with one hand on the window for balance, and a knee in between my legs. In my delirium, I was relieved to find myself with him - another human - whose eyes were much less hardened than the ones in my nightmares, despite the blood ties that they shared.

"Alright, Zabini?" he asked warily, gently separating his face from my cold, sweaty hands.

I tried to laugh it off as nothing. "I – I don't usually – it's just because of today. I'm not like … like some kid with night terrors, or something."

He nodded dubiously.

"Really, Malfoy!"

Malfoy raised his hands. "Fine, Zabini, whatever. I don't really care either way. I'm just here to tell you we're at King's Cross."

"Oh."

I realized that the train was no longer moving, and that a packed station platform was visible out the window. I slipped out of the compartment, with Malfoy ahead of me.

"Malfoy, wait!" I called as he made his way off the train. I chewed on my lip, wondering how to voice the problems brewing inside. "I – I don't know how I'll act today. In front of him."

At least if I told him, it was fair warning.

I expected Malfoy to sneer and declare that his father was worth at least ten thousand of me, and that if I didn't act like it, I'd be rife with regret. Instead, he looked down at me, silently taking me in. I must have looked so idiotically weak, with my hair plastered to my forehead from the sweat of my nightmare, and my teeth chattering from my inability to dress for the weather.

"Act how you want, Zabini," he concluded with a shrug, before gesturing for me to keep up.

To anyone who didn't know the nature of a Malfoy, those words would have meant nothing. But I knew him. And those words had made whatever awful things that lay ahead of us today that much less awful.


	10. The Ghost of the Regal Man

a/n:

 **I've been bad, I know. I have my reasons for posting so late, of course, but I won't bore you with them and will instead humbly apologize and hope you guys accept it. This one's longer in exchange for the wait time, and I hope to have another one up soon. But that brings me to an important question, seeing as this month and part of next will be throwing my schedule 100% off: would you guys rather shorter, more frequent chapters or longer, less frequent ones? I'd love it if you could let me know as an aside in the next review you leave, or PM me with an answer if you're shy.**

 **Thank you to Wowom and Sissysbuddy** **for being so supportive and patient, and thanks to the rest of you for much the same!**

 **~ Anna (insert disclaimer about owning nothing here)**

* * *

It wasn't hard to tell why Frank Kerrigan's specialty was Azkaban. He seemed like the perfect person to diminish a criminal's will to live before they even set foot near Dementors. As he loomed over us in the Ministry Atrium, looking very much like an _Engorgio-_ ed Goyle, I almost felt like I was walking to my _own_ incarceration.

"Oh!" I exclaimed, as I stumbled over the hem of Malfoy's cloak.

"Personal bubble, Zabini," he muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

I had been subconsciously plastering myself to his side ever since I laid eyes on our 'tour guide', and although it had started off innocuously enough, I may as well have been living inside his cloak by the time we reached the security desk.

"Sorry," I whispered back, quietly enough for only him to hear. "It's just … I can feel him breathing on me."

"That's what he does. Get used to it."

I swallowed nervously and took my wand back from the wizard at the security desk. As we passed it, I went for the elevators out of habit, only to be redirected firmly by the elbow.

"Pay attention, would you?" snapped Malfoy. "I'm not going looking for you if you end up getting yourself lost in bloody Azkaban of all places."

We passed through six archways before ending up in a tiny room, barely fit for two. I was sandwiched uncomfortably between Malfoy and our lumbering escort, and once again found myself gravitating towards the former.

"Zabini," he breathed barely-discernibly into my ear, as the room began to move backwards.

"What, Malfoy?"

"You're … pressing into certain things."

I cringed and tried to move away, but judging by his growl of protest, it wasn't helping. And so I stayed pressed into 'things' for the entirety of the ride, until the moving room stopped.

Two things told me we'd reached the prison: the smell of filth and the sudden, crippling indifference I felt towards living. As the door opened to reveal a tunnel lit by torches of blue flame, I could barely push my legs to go onwards.

"Get it together and keep your wand out," hissed Malfoy as he nudged me forward. We were led through the tunnel by Kerrigan, who paused at every corner to check for Dementors.

"Barely any guards left," he said gruffly. "Guess they all left for greener pastures, kind of like your father tried to do. Only difference is he failed."

Malfoy sneered, but before he could think of doing something stupid with his wand, both mine and his flew out of our hands and into Kerrigan's.

"This'll be the room. Enjoy your goodbyes, kids."

I stood in front of a heavy door with a slit of metal bars at the top, through which only someone much taller than me could see.

"You're not coming?" I asked anxiously. It was the first time I'd spoken directly to him.

"Don't you worry, little lady; I have ears and eyes all over this place. Any funny business in that room means you and your boyfriend get thrown into the cell above it."

Malfoy scowled and turned to walk in, before his eyes slipped to mine. He stopped uneasily by the door. "Are you …?" The question seemed to stick in his throat, and I couldn't blame him; it was probably the first time in his life that he had thought to ask me it.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm okay." I said, with my voice scratchy and my mouth parched.

Malfoy nodded mutely and pushed open the door to reveal a windowless room, with a table in the corner behind which his father sat. Or the remnants of him, anyway. He was almost worse than Skeeter had described him in her column. But even as his hair hung oily and limp, and the outline of a bad tattoo jutted from his neck (Prisoner 73027), Lucius Malfoy held his head like a king.

When he saw his son, he gave a small nod of pseudo-approval. And then he saw me.

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep myself grounded.

"Ah, little Heidi," he said softly; almost mockingly. "You've come to visit."

"Something like that," I replied, hoping the weakness in my voice was subtle.

He gestured to a chair, and I flinched from the suddenness of the motion. I saw Malfoy stiffen on my right and flicker his gaze between his father and me. He looked all too aware of the tension.

"Well have a seat, dear girl. Robert wouldn't be too impressed if I put his daughter through any sort of … discomfort."

Malfoy got up and mechanically pulled out a chair for me. I stared at him, staying stuck on the spot until he gave the tiniest nod of assurance.

"Very good, Draco," remarked his father. "We mustn't be rude to girls."

I'd sat at the same table as Lucius Malfoy many times, but never had I felt so drained. Somewhere inside me, I knew all I wanted was to go home. But that somewhere was buried under a deep desire to drop my head down and let the life seep out of me. After all, there was no _point_ to going home; there was no happiness at home … in fact, there was no happiness at all… but maybe death would do the trick. Maybe if I just lowered my head and waited, it would come …

Just as I began to yield to my drawn-out, anticlimactic demise, a rattling got me to look up. A hooded figure was swirling above a glowing barrier, occasionally trying to plunge through with its scabby hands. The sight of it reminded me to fight.

"You've been good to your mother, I hope," said Lucius, his attention now fully on his son.

"Yes, Father."

"And how is your … schooling coming along? You've been working hard?"

"Yes, Father."

"You must remember your deadlines at all times, Draco. They will creep up on you if you are not careful. If you need anything, Severus will help. He is … well-versed in the things that it takes to excel in this field."

I frowned as I listened. Since when was Snape a knowledgeable Healer?

But Malfoy seemed to understand the subtleties of this, for he once again said, "Yes, Father," before rotating to me. "I need a minute, Zabini."

"And where am I supposed to go?" I retorted.

"The other side of the chamber would be just fine," Lucius said cordially.

I curled my fingers into fists and stood up, swaying slightly on shaking knees. The visiting chamber was big enough that I heard nothing but muted whispers coming from the table on the other side of the room. I didn't know what the two Malfoys were talking about, and I didn't care. Dumbledore was wrong. There was nothing in this for me.

After what seemed like hours of back and forth whispers, with Kerrigan peering through the bars on the top of the door the whole time, and the Dementor above us swirling from corner to corner, Malfoy got up from the table and came over to me.

"Are we leaving?" I asked urgently, resisting the temptation to grab onto him for balance, and perhaps even some sick form of comfort.

"He wants to talk to you, Zabini," he said quietly, like he was waiting for an explosion on my end.

"What? Alone?"

Malfoy nodded. My stomach, which was already in all kinds of turmoil, plummeted faster.

"About wh-"

"I have no idea, Zabini," he said.

I swallowed down bile.

"Look … like I said before, I won't force you. But it sounds important."

"I see we're still holding a grudge, little Heidi," called Lucius from the table. "I must say I find it rather childish."

I clenched my fists and stalked over to him, leaving Malfoy in the corner.

"Come, now, I'm giving you a chance to realign yourself with the correct side," said Lucius softly as I sat down. "Our little hiccough last year was … unfortunate. I apologize if I scared you."

"Scared me? You tried to _kill_ me!"

His eyes darkened. "Do not make a scene in front of my son. What happened last year was nothing personal. I suggest you treat it as such."

I sprang from the chair, seeing nothing but red.

"Oh, no, Mr. Malfoy. It was _very_ personal," I said, gripping the back of the chair to keep from falling. The fact that I felt anything through the numbing effects of Dementors was a short-lived miracle. As I backed away with a stumble, the miracle faded.

Malfoy was waiting for me, looking steady on his feet.

"C-can we please go?" I said, shivering violently and not bothering to hide it. "P-please, Malfoy, I've … I've had enough."

He sighed. "Yeah, Zabini, alright. I just need one second."

Malfoy strode over to his father, who got up at the sight of his son. Without warning, the two locked into a hug. I felt like I was watching something from a parallel universe; a hallucination perhaps, or some statistically impossible otherworldly event. Surely Draco and Lucius Malfoy wouldn't _hug_ to say goodbye. It was so … normal.

Only when they let go did I release the breath I was holding. And with the breath left a little bit – the _tiniest_ bit – of my resentment towards Lucius Malfoy. As twisted and callous as the man was, he cared for his son. And that was better than nothing.

I wondered if this was what Dumbledore had given the grand title of 'closure'.

"Don't you have something to say to me, Heidi?" drawled Lucius as he took notice of me once more.

"Uh … I …"

All of the things I wanted to spew at him, all of the pent-up anger that I swore I would unleash the next time I saw him, stayed firmly locked inside. Because as Lucius was looking expectantly at me, Malfoy was looking tensely at him as if he was trying to make sure he wouldn't forget his own flesh and blood when he left. Who was I to encroach on an already crumbling family portrait? I was just a girl with a grudge.

I cleared my throat.

"Good luck, Mister Malfoy."

Malfoy looked at me with a raised eyebrow, while his father smirked.

"Oh, I won't be needing it. But thank you."

Suddenly, the barrier between the Dementor and us dropped. I watched in apprehension as the creature glided smoothly to the floor. It moved on Lucius Malfoy at first, then raised its hooded head like a wolf sniffing the air for prey. I must have changed its mind.

A hollow wail travelled through my ears, growing and growing as it settled in my head. I squeezed my hands over my ears, but it was fruitless; the sound was coming from within me. The creature made me watch it all – everything I didn't ever want to see again. I watched Hermione tumble down, cursed by a Death Eater. I saw Neville with his bloody nose, felt my dismay that this was how I would remember my friends: broken and bloody. I heard my prayer to my parents, and witnessed death – my very first death – as Sirius fell through the veil. And when it stopped, I found myself surrounded once more by the smell of spiced Amber.

"Mwfy," I mumbled.

"Zabini, you're drooling on my cloak."

I ran a clammy hand over my mouth and realized he was right. I lifted my head from his shoulder. My eyes ached from blinding sunlight. We were on a street bench, though which street was beyond me.

"Wh…where…?"

" _Muggle_ London," he said in disdain. He looked at me and snorted. "What an absolute genius our headmaster is, wouldn't you agree? I mean, of all possible people he could have gotten to accompany me, he enlisted the fainting wonder. I swear, you and Potter-"

"Malfoy, you're all puffy and red. Have you been …?"

" _No_ , Zabini, I have not 'been' anything. If I'm red it's because you weigh about a thousand pounds and that Ministry dunce was too busy trying to produce a Patronus to help lug you out of prison."

"Why didn't you just cast a spell to levitate me?"

"No magic outside of school," he mumbled bitterly, wiping his nose with the back of his leather glove.

I blinked at him deliriously, then announced my need for chocolate.

"Are you bloody kidding me? Did you not hear me tell you that you weigh a million-"

"Don't exaggerate, Malfoy: you said thousand. And how can you be that weak anyway? You play Quidditch for Merlin's sake."

"Used to," he muttered.

"What?"

"I quit the team."

" _Why!_ " I gasped.

"Well, after how stunningly well the last match went for me, I decided I couldn't take any more risks."

"That was reckless of you, you know. Flying when you knew you had that thing on your forearm," I said.

"Won't be a problem now. Harper's flying for me in the next match. Thankfully, that was pretty much the last thing I even remotely enjoyed doing."

I frowned.

"How is that good, Malfoy?"

"Nothing left to lose now, is there?" he said with a shrug.

Something in my heart dropped for him.

"That is incredibly depressing."

He turned to me with a half-smirk.

"What can I say, Zabini? I am incredibly depressed."

I didn't have it in me to laugh at that, and he exchanged his half-smirk for a burdened grimace too. Before I realized what I was doing, I reached out my arm and, very stiffly, patted him on the head.

"Zabini, what are you…"

"There, there."

"I'm not a cat!" he snapped.

"Oh, I would never touch a cat," I remarked as I continued patting him.

He flinched. "I dunno how you think this feels, but it doesn't feel good."

I grinned at him as he caught my hand and threw it off in mild annoyance.

"We should get chocolate," I suggested.

"From where? We have to be at King's Cross in an hour. That imbecile won't be taking us back. Told us to walk the whole way."

I shrugged mock-innocently. "Oh, I dunno … maybe that place-"

"No-"

"That we snuck off to-"

" _No_ -"

"In the summer of Second year, when you took a momentary break from being a prat."

"Zabini, that's a Muggle chocolate shop," he said with a disgust-laden voice. "I only went there out of sheer desperation. I mean, they had us in a museum of all places; I was twelve and momentarily insane from the boredom."

I sighed sharply and annoyingly. "But you're in Muggle London _now_ ; you may as well get Muggle chocolate. And anyway, you just came in contact with a Dementor. You need it for your health."

"What happened to you not caring about my health because I'm 'one of them' now? That was nice, Zabini, let's go back to it."

I looked at him pensively.

"I never told anyone. Just so you know."

He raised an eyebrow.

"I'd give you a prize, but I'm thinking that had more to do with the fact that I'd have killed you if you did."

"Look, I'll keep it quiet as long as it's just … just an ugly tattoo you got. But the minute someone gets hurt, Malfoy, I don't care if you kill me or not," I declared.

"Alright, Zabini," he said with an unaffected shrug.

"I'm not done!"

He gestured dramatically for me to continue, then crossed his arms and raised his eyebrow. I cleared my throat.

"I just want you to know, Malfoy, that I refuse to raise my wand against you in battle. On principle."

"…Huh?"

"It's what he wants," I continued, feeling the beginnings of a long-held-back rant. "And I _won't_ do it."

"What are you going on about now, Zabini?" Malfoy drawled.

"Voldemort, Malfoy! I'm going on about Voldemort!" I exclaimed, ignoring his flinch. A couple of passing Muggles turned back to look at us. "Haven't you thought about what any of this means for us?"

He crossed his arms, nostrils flaring. "I'm sorry, Zabini. Between putting my mother in rehab and trying to get my father out of prison, I must have forgotten to consider how my choices would affect that other Zabini. You know, the extra one that I barely talk to and don't at all care about."

"I'm not an 'extra Zabini'! I'm the directly involved Zabini who now has to keep a massive secret from everyone she loves so that some Slytherin git comes out of this alive! So cooperate, would you?" I huffed.

He rolled his eyes and, upon realizing I wouldn't take no for an answer, yielded.

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Twenty minutes later, we were back on the same bench with a box of chocolate truffles each.

"I asked my father about what you said he did," Malfoy began, taking a bite of a truffle so dark it looked to be pure cocoa.

"Did he admit it?"

"It doesn't matter," he said unwaveringly.

"No, I guess it doesn't," I admitted, brushing chocolate dust off my hands.

"It does leave me with one question though: why the _hell_ are your parents still friends with mine?"

I snorted. "Beats me, Malfoy."

"I'm serious, Zabini. I need to understand."

I sighed and put my box down.

"They're still friends because I didn't tell them that it had been your father. I told them it was a Death Eater I didn't know. What I did was hard enough on them, I didn't want them to feel guilty. I should never have been there that night."

He nodded. "Makes sense."

I went back to my box of truffles, only to discover a pale hand already in it. I slapped it away, like I'd done over three years ago.

"Mine are disgusting. They're burning my mouth," he explained, reaching for them once more. I moved them away.

"I _told_ you not to get the ones with chili pepper, didn't I? And then you argued with me for ten minutes even though I was the one nice enough to buy you chocolate with the last of my Muggle money. Well now you made your bed, Malfoy, so lie in it."

He rolled his eyes. "It's chocolate."

"No, it's a symbol of all your bad decisions," I nagged. I paused to think for a moment. "Hey, Malfoy, does your father know that I'm aware of your … leanings … in the war?"

Malfoy scoffed. "Of course not. If he did, he'd have…"

"He'd have what?"

Malfoy looked at me seriously. "Well, Zabini … I think he'd have wanted you dead."

And because no one we knew was there to watch us, and because we were both cold and tired and sick of the depression that had slowly crept in, we let ourselves laugh at the absurdity of it all.


	11. In Green, In Red, In Common

**My goodness, it has been a hot minute. Apparently, I had to take the month off to fully participate in some weird thing people refer to as the 'real world'. For those of you thinking about doing the same, don't: the real world contains five final exams, relentless car troubles, and an evil monster called the December LSAT (that's the mega-exam us North Americans take to get into law school, and it is the polar opposite of fun). I'm finally done, and although I'm sure many of you thought I was a goner for good, I just can't stay away. This chapter is double what I usually post, and I'm going to try my darndest to get more on the way soon.**

 **As always, thanks so, _so_ much to those of you who leave reviews, follow, favourite, and do anything else that shows me you care. I definitely care back!**

 **I'll let you guys get on with it, but before you do, I just have to warn you about some strong words that appear in this one. It's not too frequent, but you've been warned just in case.**

 **~ Anna**

 **Disclaimer: I own basically none of this, and J.K. Rowling owns basically all of it, so please don't sue. Or at least let me get to law school before you do, so I'll know what to do with myself. ;)**

* * *

Even on the train back to Hogwarts, Malfoy and I were still under the same silent agreement to deal with all of this alone. The only difference was that we were now doing it in the same compartment; combined isolation was, at the very least, better than complete isolation. But I still had no idea how we lasted for hours without a word. The silence was eating me alive.

"I see Hogsmeade," he said suddenly, his voice slightly scratchy from non-use.

I turned to look out the window, where the brick chimneys of the station were puffing smoke into the sky. It was over, I realized, as I looked at the familiar burgundy sign bearing the village name. We were back. We would wake up tomorrow, in green or in red, and once again act as if we had nothing in common – not even a visit to hell.

As he began to stand, I broke.

"Malfoy, I think we need to talk about-"

"You're right, Zabini," he said, surprisingly pre-defeated before I even had a chance to harass him, "we need to."

I sighed in relief. "Thank Merlin. I really need help making sense of what we just-"

"We need to set up rules, Zabini. Ground rules. Because I'm not anybody's mother, lover, or therapist."

I blinked in confusion and resisted the urge to remind him that I'd seen him with at least a dozen girls just this year.

"I know how emotional you lion freaks get when you see something from the real world," he said with disdain. "You don't speak to anybody about where you were or what you saw. Not a soul, Zabini, got it?"

I was still reeling from the change in tone.

"Uh … why?"

His nostrils flared.

"Because what you saw is _private_. It's between me and my father."

"Malfoy, you know I can't not-"

"You _can_ not. It's called self-restraint. Get some."

"Well can I at least talk to _you_ about it?" I asked.

Malfoy gave me a look that told me the answer immediately.

"Fine," I said, trying and failing not to spill my resentment into the air. "Then you have to promise me something."

His eyebrows lifted slightly. "Excuse me?"

"Oh, skip it, Malfoy, would you? Yes, I'm asking you for something. 'How outrageous, how unheard of, who do I think I am' – blah, blah, blah," I said emotionlessly.

He rolled his eyes. "Fine. Spit it out."

"Promise me you'll come to class. No more skipping, no more leaving me with random partners like some sort of orphan bouncing from family to family. This is a partnered program. You are my partner. I need you."

He gave me a long, tension filled silence, before ever-so-faintly saying 'fine' – Malfoy's version of a promise. And he followed through. For exactly two school days.

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It happened slowly, like festering rot. First, I could only get six hours a night … then five … then four. Then, sleep became a word I used when I meant 'succumbing to images of personal terror'. But at least – at the _very_ least – Azkaban hadn't taken my appetite. Only my ability to feel any kind of peace.

"You coming to breakfast, Heidi?"

I peeled my eyes open just to have sunlight invade them.

"Breakfast? Yeah. Yeah, I'm coming."

"You didn't get a wink of sleep either, did you?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"I did towards dawn," I admitted.

"Oh, you're lucky. That was when the rest of the girls got woken up. Screaming from beyond the walls again. Thought it was one of the boys at first, but they were all fast asleep."

I ran my fingers over my swollen eyelids and conjured some water into my hands with my wand.

"What do you think it was, then?" I asked, letting the cool water ease the burn of my lids.

"I'm thinking it was some ghost causing a disturbance for fun. Maybe Myrtle's in the pipes again," she suggested.

"I thought the voice was male."

Hermione smiled. "You'd be surprised at her vocal range."

"Myrtle's dysfunctions are hardly surprising," I remarked as I tugged my uniform on. My already frazzled ponytail bobbed stupidly with the motions. I groaned and yanked out my hair tie. In a gilded mirror, I noticed Hermione observing me.

"You're very stressed," she blurted. "Ron and Harry see it, too. Ever since that day that you said you spent studying alone."

I swallowed my nervousness and tried not to give anything away.

"Oh."

"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked.

Did I want to _talk_ about it? The words had been clawing their way up my throat for three days minimum – a full narrative on my adventures in Azkaban, complete with Malfoy insanity. And yet, they wouldn't budge from that spot below my neck where anxious lumps always formed and stayed.

"I think I'd just like breakfast."

Looking defeated, my friend nodded her head and accompanied me out to the dungeon hallway.

A familiar figure rounded the corner from where I knew the Slytherin common room lay. He halted when he saw me and gave a particularly savage growl. Before I knew it, a piece of parchment was flying at my chest.

"Blaise!" I squeaked, catching the paper weapon just in time.

"Get your own damn owl!" snarled my normally placid brother. "I don't need to read a letter from Mother advising you on your 'menstrual' anything!"

Hermione gave me yet another anxious look and stepped away to give us space.

"By the looks of it, you're the one she was trying to advise on 'menstrual somethings'," I said in aggravation. "What is _wrong_ with you this morning?"

"Don't ask me that as if you look any better. You and Granger decide on matching hairstyles today?"

"Hey, I'm not the one throwing letters like boomerangs!" I snapped. "And what's with the tone? What are you, Malfoy's stand-in now? You sound just like him."

"Funny you should mention that piece of shit."

"It's tru – wait, _what?_ " I turned to see if Hermione had heard what I'd heard, but she was already gone. "He's your best friend, Blaise."

"He's not my best anything. He's losing his damn mind, that's what he's doing. You know what I woke up to? That crazy bastard ripping the dorm room apart!" he exclaimed.

I'd never seen my brother so ablaze. The damage done must have been extensive.

"What do you mean 'ripping it apart'?" I asked.

"I mean taking his little grey pillows and his little green bedsheets, walking across the room, and _fucking throwing them into the fireplace._ That is what I mean," he said, gesturing wildly in the most off-putting improv I'd seen in a while. "But that's not all of it."

I gulped nervously. "It isn't?"

"No. It isn't. Because once he got to his mattress, he knocked into Crabbe's dresser trying to pull it off the bed."

"So he threw that into the fire instead?" I groaned.

"Nah. Just the top drawer."

I breathed a sigh of relief. The last thing Malfoy needed was a gargantuan teak dresser falling on top of him.

"Which just so happened to be the underwear drawer. That pale-nosed git burned Crabbe's full-year supply of underwear."

"Why didn't anybody stop him?" I gasped, before his actions had actually registered.

"I was the only one in there! Nott snuck off with Tracey, and Crabbe and Goyle were sleeping in the kitchens again. You think I can restrain him when he goes off-the-wall like that?" Blaise cursed and shook his head.

"I'll try talking to him if I see him in class," I suggested.

" _Talking_ to him? I don't want you going anywhere near him! The man's a lunatic; even Pansy won't sit beside him anymore. Thank Merlin that he's stopped coming to meals so no one has to deal with it."

"Friendship really is a beautiful thing," I said sarcastically.

"We'll see how close you stay with any of _your_ friends if they force you into seeing Vincent Crabbe's bits every morning for a month," Blaise shot back.

"What, he can't just buy new underwear like all the normal people?"

"He's one-quarter troll. His mother gets it custom made from Greece. It takes like a week to finish one pair, let alone thirty."

I bit my tongue to keep from laughing and made a mental note to mock Malfoy over this for the rest of his life.

"Maybe you should get him a loincloth, then."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "Tablecloth, more like it. Anyway, I'm going into the Hall for breakfast. Don't walk too close to me, or it'll look like we associate."

"We shared a womb, you know that right?" I said.

"So? Potions is cancelled by the way. Snape told us he wasn't coming in today, and he's the only professor that knows how to brew Blindwater."

I nodded and stepped to the side to open the letter. I scanned it quickly.

Veiled criticisms regarding my non-existent love life: check. A plea for me to stop wearing orange because it clashes with my facial structure: check. An update on my father: surprisingly absent.

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"We aren't friends, Zabini."

I looked at the breakfast pastry I brought him, pretending to carefully analyze it.

"Oh, thank god!" I said dramatically, putting my hand over my heart. "For a second there I was afraid I'd brought you a friendship bracelet, but it turns out it's just a croissant."

Malfoy scowled and grabbed the plate out of my hands. I took a seat next to him on what I would from then-on call his sulking ledge, and waited for him to say something. Of course, he chewed as slowly as he possibly could so he wouldn't have to.

"What's going on, Malfoy?"

"With?" he mumbled.

"With you. Blaise said he found you tearing the dorm room apart this morning."

Malfoy's nostrils flared.

"Your brother's full of shit."

"Now why is he taking over the title that you so lovingly gave to me, Malfoy?" I asked with a raised eyebrow.

He glared at me. He wasn't in the mood for jokes, evidently. It wasn't hard to see why. The dark circles under his eyes had grown.

I cleared my throat.

"You know, if you need someone to…to talk to-"

"Let me assure you, I don't," he snapped.

"Well it's just … it would make sense, wouldn't it? To talk to me? I mean, I was there."

He growled and raked his fingers through his hair.

"I bloody knew this would happen."

I frowned.

"Knew what would happen?"

"You'd stick your nose into every damn thing, thinking you had a right to because now you're 'involved'. Well, you aren't," he said pretentiously.

I snorted. "Oh, sure, let me just go back in time and un-involve myself."

He sent the plate down to the floor so hard it was a miracle it didn't smash to bits.

"Malfoy!" I exclaimed, throwing my foot out of the way. "What the hell is wrong with you!"

"Zabini, I haven't slept for seventy-four hours and counting," he said, dangerously on edge. "You _don't_ want to test me right now."

I sprang up.

"Don't you dare threaten me! You don't get to treat me like garbage after everything I've-"

He got up, too, his eyes narrowed.

"Did I stutter when I said it or are you just deaf? We're _not friends._ I'd rather die than associate with-"

"So where are they?" I said calmly. The edge in my face dropped, and the change of tone must have left him confused.

"Who?" he asked cautiously.

"Those 'friends' of yours that you fought so hard to keep. You know, the ones that you ridiculed me all these years to appease? Where's Blaise? Where's your _girlfriend_ of all people?"

"Shut up, Zab-"

"Why don't they look at you anymore?"

"You don't know what you're-"

"Is it because they know what you are, and want to avoid you like the plague? Or is it because they think you're just going off your rocker, like Skeeter predicted you would?"

"I SAID SHUT THE FUCK UP!" he roared. "YOU DON'T GET TO ACT LIKE AN EXPERT ON _MY_ LIFE, AND _MY_ FRIENDS, AND _MY_ SANITY!

I flinched as the hotness of his words knocked into my cheek. An unlucky straggler in the corridor jumped and ran at the sound, not bothering to turn around and see where it had come from. After a moment of his heavy breathing, I let my shoulders drop.

"Did that help?" I asked sheepishly.

"What?" he said with mild annoyance. He seemed to have simmered down in a matter of seconds.

"Letting it out."

" _What?_ " he seethed.

I shrugged with a small smile.

"You looked a little tense. I figured I'd let you take the edge off, just this once."

He looked around wildly, probably convinced that one of my friends would pop out and say 'April Fools!' in October. When nobody did, he looked back to me.

"So you've taken it upon yourself to stand around and let people scream at you like some Hufflepuff?"

"No, not 'people' – just you."

"That's a dangerous game to play, Zabini," he said with the ghost of a smirk.

"I seem to live on the edge whenever you're involved," I remarked dryly.

Malfoy gave a quiet snort and hoisted his bag onto his shoulder.

"Whatever you say. I'll see you Monday."

"Monday?" I asked. "What the hell do you mean 'Monday'? We have Charms class in an hour now that Potions got cancelled. I came to drag you there, in fact."

He rubbed his eternally bloodshot silver eyes.

"Zabini, I'm not going and you know it. So why don't you scurry off to nag Scarhead and Sidekick, and let me be?"

"But why aren't you going?" I demanded.

"Because I'd rather die."

I crossed my arms. "You'd rather die than do a lot of things today, by the looks of it."

"Your lucky day," he sighed. "As I said, Zabini, I'll-"

"Could I maybe come with you, then?" I asked. My words surprised the both of us, it seemed.

" _Excuse me?_ "

"I um … I haven't been feeling so well either, truth be told. And since you're not going to class, there's hardly a point to having me go. They'll just put me with Terry and Anthony, but you're the one my grades depend on anyway so it's really rather pointless. Right?"

I looked at him hopefully. He appraised me for all of one second before murmuring his favourite dirty word.

"You're clingy as shit, you know that?"

"I humbly disagree. Was that a yes by the way?"

"Where's Granger? Can't she be the one to pet you and tell you you're good enough, or whatever?" he asked impatiently. If I said that didn't sting, I'd be lying.

"Hermione's in class, and so are Harry and Ron," I explained, my cheeks growing warm from the unsubtle rejection. "It's okay, Malfoy, I get it. It was a longshot anyway."

I gave him a tense but civil nod and turned to walk away, as I should have done in the first place.

"Fine."

"What?"

"Just don't get in my way and don't bring me any more jam-slathered food."

I shook my head. "Really, we don't have to, Malfoy. It was a stupid idea-"

"You _said_ you wanted the company," he snapped irascibly.

"Yeah, but it was a dumb-"

"As you can clearly see, Zabini, I am _absolutely_ fine alone. So I'm really only offering because your _incessant_ begging for my presence is throwing me completely off."

He looked at me pointedly, as if waiting for something. And then I understood.

"Oh! Er … please, Malfoy, would you spend time with me. I am … begging incessantly for your presence."

He crossed his arms.

"Fine, Zabini, if you insist."

I smiled slightly and set off towards the library. It wasn't until I was being yanked unceremoniously up the stairs that I realized Malfoy had other study plans entirely.

"Aren't we going to the library?"

"No," he said curtly.

I waited for him to fill me in; I was left waiting a long time. Only when we reached the seventh floor corridor did his idea become evident.

"Why the Room of Requirement?" I asked.

"I thought you wanted to come with me."

I blinked. "Well, I do but … but why the Room of Requirement?"

"None of the teachers go in there," he said. He looked at me to see some sign of understanding, and, judging by his eye-roll, didn't find a single one. "It means no one will catch us missing class. Wouldn't want you to get another detention because of me, Useless Zabini. Don't know how I'd live with myself."

"Oh, I believe that," I quipped.

I stepped in front of him, convinced that he needed me to show him the way in, only to find the blank wall turning to wood without my help.

"I didn't know you knew how to get in," I said.

"Ten points for me," he drawled, stepping into the musty room. "And one for you for telling me the password."

"I never told you the password."

"No, but you showed me the password," he said, as if it was obvious. "When you were looking for that beater's bat of yours. I saw you pacing and muttering."

"But how did you know what to mutter?" I asked, dropping my schoolbag on a nearby table while having a very bad feeling about all of this. I had heard my friends mention on many occasions that the most redeeming quality of this place was that 'gits like Malfoy didn't know how to get in'.

"This isn't Ravenclaw Tower. Not exactly hard to say 'I need to get in here' to yourself three times over. Anyway, are we here to study or not? Where's your wand?"

In response, I tipped over my schoolbag and sent an infinity of parchment, quills and muggle coins tumbling out. I knelt down and began sifting through it, while Malfoy took his place on a weird-looking vinyl couch.

"Found it," I said as I extracted my hand from the rubble of my school career, my fingers around the wand. "What do you want to do first? Tooth charms or that really weird spell that Tonks taught us that makes you vomit?"

"Neither. We're brewing Draught of Living Death," he said.

"Oh, we're not being tested on that one; we haven't even learned it yet. That's next month."

"Well I need to brew it anyway."

I raised my eyebrow at his persistence, and quickly realized what was causing it.

"Are you insane? I'm not brewing you under-the-table potions for your health problems!" I spluttered.

"Thought you Gryffindorks were all about helping."

"'Helping'? Helping is taking down notes for classes you miss, or bringing you food when you can't make it to a meal! Helping is not brewing a ridiculously advanced potion, getting it wrong, and poisoning you." I shook my head and grabbed his arm. "Come on."

Malfoy, being ten times stronger than me when wands weren't in use, dug his feet firmly into the floor.

"Come where?"

"The hospital wing," I said defiantly.

"You know, that's even stupider than your usual jokes," he scoffed, freeing himself from my grip.

"Where are you going?" I called after him as he stalked through the towers of junk.

"I think I saw a bottle of it in here the other day. Of course, it was from 1959, but hey - who's counting?" he said resentfully.

I rushed after him before he swallowed something that would be less dream-invoking and more hallucination-inducing.

"Malfoy, is this where you've been hiding these past few days?" I asked incredulously as I watched him toss aside a plaque depicting the Five Principle Exceptions to Gamp's Law.

"I haven't been hiding," he snapped over his shoulder. "I've been … busy."

"Too busy to keep a promise, clearly," I muttered.

I could see his nostrils flaring, and fully expected to be thrown out of the room I helped him discover in the first place. Instead, he crossed his arms and marched back to the sky-blue couch.

"What are you…?"

"You want to study? Fine. We'll study."

I observed him cautiously for a moment, then settled into a broken velvet armchair across from him. I reached for my Charms book and found the chapter on tooth charms, which I had practiced relentlessly.

"Give me your mouth," I requested.

"You are absolutely not practicing on my teeth."

"Why!" I whined.

"Because if I wanted to look like Granger, I'd drink Polyjuice Potion," Malfoy said.

"We're going to fail our practical exam if you don't start cooperating."

Malfoy scowled and crossed his arms.

"You're not touching my mouth, Zabini."

"But I know all the steps!" I insisted.

"List them."

"What?"

"List the steps. No book, just memory."

I waved him away. "Don't be daft. How would you even know the steps when you skipped all the classes?"

"Try me and find out," he said with a smirk.

I sighed and slammed my Charms textbook shut.

"Fine. First, I administer a numbing potion with a five milliliter dropper onto the gums around the tooth in question. Then, with my wand tracing a U-shape in the air no further than five centimeters from said tooth, I-"

"Start to ugly-cry, because Flitwick just failed you on the exam that you were so sure you knew by heart," he said arrogantly.

"What? No I didn't! It's a five millimeter dropper for toothwork. If you're thinking of the ten millimeter one, that's for Herbology. See, I _told_ you to come to class!"

"I'm not talking about the dropper, genius. I'm talking about the fact that you didn't soften the enamel before muttering your little spell. You'd have cracked every part of that tooth trying to enlarge it. And it's twelve milliliters for Herbology."

He smirked infuriatingly while I realized, after flipping through Charms for Good Health (Level 1), that Malfoy was nowhere near as stupid as I'd have liked him to be.

"But – but you skipped every one of those classes. I went to all of them, sat through them to the end, practiced on every tooth I could find. Anthony didn't even correct me once!" I covered my mouth in horror. "Oh my god, is this why he wouldn't smile at me the whole day after? Because I cracked his teeth?"

"No, I expect that was because the sight of you makes most people miserable."

But I was too busy wrapping my head around my complete incompetence to feel wounded by his remark.

"Malfoy, what am I going to do? I'm going to fail. I mean really, _really_ fail this time."

I looked at him piteously, only to find him glaring back.

"Yeah, Zabini. Let's talk about the consequences of failure. I suppose the teachers will get utterly furious if you get anything below an O. Let's just pray none of them kill you and your whole family for underperforming."

I softened.

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Like what?"

"Like how it sounded. I'm not trying to take away from what's happening with you." And then, for lack of any way to cut the tension, I gave him a clichéd and entirely unhelpful line: "It isn't your fault."

He narrowed his eyes.

"I am going to say this exactly one time: it is _very much_ my fault. All of this is. I took the Mark willingly so I could serve in lieu of my father and that is precisely – no, close your mouth and listen for once, Zabini – that is _precisely_ what I did. So don't you dare paint me like some sort of innocent idiot stumbling into something without mulling it over for weeks upon weeks upon weeks."

"Even I don't think that lowly of you, Malfoy," I said regretfully. "Just so you know."

Not wanting to play on his already-frayed nerves any longer, I went back to my Charms book.

"Then what do you think of me?"

I looked up in mild surprise. I hadn't realized that he was aiming for a conversation, not a one-sided rant. I thought about the best way to phrase my answer.

"I'm guessing you want this to be honest, so I do have to point out that you're sort of a massive jerk." I paused to wait for an insult, but none came. "But you're also very smart. And I guess that's one of the things that makes this such a huge waste."

He nodded without saying anything, and I took it as a cue to continue reading my textbook.

"I'm not so sure I'll be here next year."

"You mean school?"

He licked his lips nervously. "Never mind."

My heart dropped.

"You don't mean school," I said with quickly-growing dread.

"No. I don't mean school."

"Why, Malfoy? Why are you saying that? Are you already in trouble with him?" I asked hurriedly.

"Leave it. I shouldn't have said anything."

"We'll go to Dumbledore! He can fix whatever it is, I know he can. I promise."

"I said leave it!" he snarled.

"And wait for you to be murdered in your bed?" I shrieked back.

I was aware that my voice had given off the impression that I was somehow emotionally involved in Malfoy's fate. And perhaps, to some degree, I was.

"You are not dying for that psychopathic scum," I said with conviction. "There has to be something someone can do - something _I_ can do."

"For the Dark Lord?" he chortled.

"No, you dimwit. For you."

He looked nothing short of stunned at the emotions I was displaying on his account.

"I … I guess I'll think about - no, Zabini, hang on," he said, shaking himself off. "What is wrong with you? Why are you being all …" He struggled to accurately describe my current disposition, and settled on 'heroic'.

"Not wanting to see you dead doesn't make me heroic, Malfoy," I said matter-of-factly. "I mean forgive me for being unable to watch a classmate single-handedly self-destruct. It isn't like we're strangers."

"It isn't like we're friends," he countered.

I shrugged.

"Doesn't bother me. You'd be a rubbish friend anyway."

"And you're an irritating, neurotic cry-baby whose presence in high society makes no sense."

"My god, Malfoy, you are so repetitive today. I get it, you get it, hell, wizards on the other side of the world probably get it: _we don't get along_. Now stop being a prat and tell me how to help you, because you clearly need someone to keep you from making more underwear bonfires."

"Just keep driving me nuts," he said under his breath.

I froze. "What?"

"The more you drive me insane, the saner I seem to become," he admitted through gritted teeth.

"Done!" I said with a triumphant grin.

He nodded unsmilingly and picked up a set of notes I had taken down for him the day before, but ultimately withheld to punish him for being a flake.

"So I guess it's settled," I said.

"Guess so, Zabini."

"Great." I leapt towards him on the couch. "Now give me your mouth."


	12. The Disposable Children

**It's midnight as I update this and I'm deliriously tired, but I really wanted to get this one up and running by the end of the day! I hope you all had wonderful holidays and settled back into your everyday routines quite nicely.**

 **Thanks to all who read and keep up, and thanks especially to SilverSapphire34523, Belovedfinch11, and Ceraphina who all left lovely reviews that I either didn't get a chance to address or forgot to address on my last update.**

 **Happy reading!**

 **~ Anna**

 **(Disclaimer: I own nothing that you recognize.)**

* * *

"Five."

"Plus fifteen."

"Malfoy, there are _not_ twenty different ways to heal a broken nose with magic."

"Well then how many are there?" he asked with a dash of falsified innocence.

I sighed with such ferocity that he froze with a fork full of shepherd's pie halfway to his mouth.

" _Five_."

He smirked and finished his meal.

"Well then what about the sixth?" he asked as he brought a napkin to his mouth and blotted nonchalantly.

I thought about this and cursed.

"You're right, there are definitely more than five."

He put his plate on the floor beside the blue vinyl couch that he had taken to occupying, and watched it vanish.

"There are seven – three spells, two potions, and two plants."

"Then why would you say twenty?" I snapped, still sore over being proved wrong. For the past few days that we had studied together, it was me that had been getting the better of him. This shift was entirely unwelcome.

"Well, at first it was to get you to try to remember the last two spells. Then you almost burst into tears from the frustration so I decided to really keep going with it."

"Alright, that is it, Malfoy! I'm not smuggling you any more sustenance!" I threatened. "Go find your friends and tell them your insomnia-induced mental breakdown was a false alarm. Maybe they'll let you back at the table."

He curled his lip.

"Just be grateful I've agreed to your little study-buddy _thing_ in the first place. I have about a million real life things to do. You know, ones that are actually worth my time," he said.

"And staying in your program of choice isn't worth your time?" I argued.

"Zabini, are you still under the illusion that any of this will matter? Are you still honestly convinced that there will even be a next year?" He laughed openly at the idea. "I bet you think that you'll be walking out of here into a _job_ instead of a world where you'll be kept only to serve people like me."

I bristled instantly at this.

"Don't lecture me on having delusions, Ferret, because you're full of them," I said coldly.

"I just don't understand how you do it; how you can go on about trivial things when your own death is at your damn door. Is it stupidity or something?"

"My death? _My_ death, Malfoy?" I spluttered.

"Yes, Zabini, _your_ death. I'm not the only one at the mercy of the Dark Lord. The Potty gang is first on his list. So why don't you tell me exactly how it is that you can sit here and argue about fixing a nosebleed when the world outside these castle walls is about to do to you what it's done to me."

I took a trinity of deep breaths for his sake, and they calmed me down enough to consider his question.

"I … really don't know," I admitted, after a moment of thinking. "If it makes you feel any better, I am aware of how it comes across: lectures on classes that don't matter to you for a career that soon won't matter to you, from a person that never even mattered to you in the first place. I know all that. And I'm sure that what's happening to your family makes my blabbering all the more insulting. I get that too. But I don't know how to communicate with you, Malfoy. These classes are all you seem to let us have in common."

"That's because we _have_ nothing in common."

"We have our families in common," I pointed out.

"Our approach to family is hardly comparable, Zabini. I protect mine. All you do is make yours stick out like sore thumbs to the Dark Lord. It's typical Gryffindor bullshit; anything to rebel."

"This war isn't some game to me, Malfoy. I have more family than meets the eye, and they need protecting too."

He gaped at me as if I really was the stupidest thing he had laid eyes on all day.

" _Potter?_ You think Potter and his apostles are your family? Newsflash, Zabini: _they will never accept you._ "

"I trust them all with my life."

"I bet you do," he said arrogantly. "Too bad they think nothing of you in return. Don't you get it? All you are to them is a nosy little rich girl who doesn't know a speck of their struggles. You didn't grow up eating where pigs shit like Weaselbee, no one ever questions your right to practice magic like they do when it comes to the Mudblood. You didn't even get a stupid cut on your face from being an orphan hero like Pothead. Face it, Zabini. You don't fit."

"You're just bitter that they're infinitely better people than you."

"My _god_ , Zabini, you are _obsessed_ with them! What exactly have they done for you that makes it impossible for you to acknowledge how pathetic they are? Go on, enlighten me. I bet I could do whatever it was twice as well."

I snorted.

"No, you couldn't."

"Yes I could."

I turned furiously to him.

"What did they do, Malfoy? They accepted me. They treated me with kindness, not derision. They laughed at my jokes and sympathized with my bad days. And most importantly they never, _ever_ put me down to bring themselves up. Not even when it would have been easy. Can you say the same?"

He hesitated.

"Sympathy is for the weak," he remarked. "Also your jokes aren't funny, so there's that," he added after a moment.

"The wise Ferret hath spoken," I mocked. "Suppose you think I should have just stuck with your circle all these years, then. Oh what _fun_ I could have had kicking around first years and blowing air kisses at Pansy while we called each other cows behind our backs. And let's not forget you and I. We've really missed out on some quality time together; just think of all the Muggle-borns we could have driven to suicide over the years."

I stomped over to a window, unable to look at him. Malfoy followed me with laughter on his tongue.

"So you _are_ still sore over me kicking you out of the gang all those years ago," he said in satisfied astonishment.

I scoffed in response.

"I'd have let you stay in with us, you know. That is, if you weren't so insufferably self-righteous - and if you didn't get yourself sorted into _Gryffindork_ because of it."

"My 'self-righteousness' has nothing to do with my getting into Gryffindor. As for you, Malfoy, I don't care if it's Hufflepuff I got myself into - you still didn't have to make my life a living hell just because my school uniform's a different bloody colour," I said cuttingly. "That has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that you're a prick."

"No more a prick than those hypocrites you call friends. You've been missing every afternoon for three days straight, you haven't brushed your hair for four, and you left school grounds for an entire day to face a man who nearly murd – well that part's just hearsay, really-"

"Is it?" I said softly.

Malfoy look at me uneasily and said nothing. I sighed and fell back into my armchair.

"Then what do you propose I do, Malfoy? You know, since all my friends think of me as a disposable little rich girl?" I said sardonically.

"Whatever it takes to survive, Zabini."

"Which is what, oh wise one?"

"Some goddamn sleep for starters," he said as he rubbed his eyes.

"Sleep on your own time!" I scolded, while fighting off my own yawn.

"You're more than welcome to escort yourself out," said Malfoy as he spread out over the couch, long limbs hanging off the edges, looking nothing short of battered royalty.

For some odd reason I didn't have it in me to kick him awake, so I resorted to glaring at him from above the pages of my Potions textbook. I didn't stop until the motions of his chest reached a slow and steady beat.

Something about watching your childhood nemesis sleep felt entirely perverse, so I curled into the mustard yellow armchair with my legs hanging over the armrest and closed my eyes. When I opened them again, I was shaking on top of stone.

"Zabini, are you dying over there?" grumbled a groggy Malfoy.

I couldn't reply, too busy trying to remember what had scared me so much that it had sent me to the floor.

"Damn it, Freakface," he snapped as he slid off the couch and came over.

"What happened to me, Malfoy?" I whispered.

"You said hello to gravity, that's what."

I shook my throbbing head.

"I meant did something happen to me? In Azkaban?"

He looked at me suspiciously.

"Why?"

"Ever since we went, I've been having … bad nights."

"In what way?"

"Never mind," I said, feeling slightly ashamed. "I was just wondering if maybe something happened to me when I blacked out in there."

"Didn't I say very clearly that I didn't want to talk about that place or what happened within it?"

I nodded.

"Then why do you keep doing it anyway?"

"I'm sorry."

He gave me one last look as I climbed back up into the chair, and regained his place on the sofa. I glanced at an old clock with a moon for a face.

"Is that clock accurate?"

"It's behind by about twenty-five minutes," replied Malfoy.

"Then I am very, _very_ late for Quidditch practice."

I threw myself off the chair and began stuffing things back into my book-bag. He stared at me without a word, then suddenly:

"Hey, Zabini?"

"Yeah?"

"Why's your broom such shit?"

I turned to him, bewildered. That was the question he was going with?

"It was the only one I could afford."

Malfoy snorted. "I'm sure. Your father's one of the only wizards employed by Gringotts as a higher-up and you can't buy anything better than a stick that occasionally hovers in the air? Sell that story to someone else, Zabini, because I don't buy it."

"That's because you're not listening, as always. It was the only one _I_ could afford," I said, pointing to myself with both hands since he seemed too thick to get the message without a visual cue. "My parents would never buy me a broom, Malfoy; they can barely stand the fact that I play in the first place."

He frowned, clearly unsatisfied with the lack of logic in this scenario.

"So then how did you get one? Trust fund? Allowance?"

"Work," I said simply.

"Work…?" He sounded it out, the word clearly foreign to his tongue. "That's ridiculous. You're sixteen; no one would hire you."

I crossed my arms and fixed him a sharp look.

"You got hired just fine."

"Zabini, bring that up one more time and I swear to-"

"I'll bring it up until the day you die or get some sense. Don't ask me which one I think will come first. As for getting hired, I was taken on without a problem."

"By who?" he drawled, drowning in skepticism.

I straightened my shoulders. I had nothing to be ashamed of, after all. Work was work.

"By the Doughtons. I did their … gardening."

I was pretty glad he wasn't drinking anything, because he would have ended up spraying it out all over my face.

"You worked."

"Yes."

"For a family that makes less money than your own."

"Yes."

"As a gardener."

"Yes."

He stared at me for a moment, looking genuinely unsure of what to do with this piece of information, and I felt quite proud of myself for befuddling thy great Slytherin so much that he couldn't even think of a jab.

"No more questions, I assume?"

"But why?" he blurted.

"I already told you, I took the job to save up for my Quidditch gear."

"No, Zabini. Why would they hire _you_ to maintain a garden, out of all people? You are to Herbology what Weasel King is to … well, any useful skill, really." Suddenly, he broke into a wicked grin, one that I hadn't seen on him since last year. "They hired you to get rid of it, didn't they?"

I scowled at him. How did this git catch on to things so quickly?

"Of course! It's the only thing that makes sense! Can't believe I never realized at the beginning." He was laughing openly now, and although it was at my expense, it was the most life I'd seen in him for ages. "We should make you little business cards: Heidi Zabini, Certified Plant Assassin."

"You make mine if I make yours," I said sweetly.

"Generous offer, Zabini, but I don't think my vocation necessitates that much publicity."

I snorted and slung my bag over my shoulder.

"Later, Malfoy."

By the looks of the torch-lit halls, and the shadows dancing on them from the moonlight, Quidditch practice was very well over. By the looks of my captain, who I stumbled upon ten steps from the room, my career on the team was very well over too.

"Zabini!" barked Harry.

I cringed, knuckles going white around the strap of my bag. When he went for the last name, I knew it was bad.

"Harry! Hello!"

My grin was so forcedly broad I may as well have been competing for the Little Miss Sorcery pageant.

"Any particular reason you decided practice was optional today?" he asked impatiently.

"I had homework."

"The whole team had homework," he said. "And even if they didn't, this isn't like you at all."

I sighed, dropping the smile that I knew wasn't doing me any good anyway.

"I know, Harry. I've just been feeling sick. Really sick."

"Yeah, 'Mione told us. Shouldn't you be going to Pomfrey by now?"

I shook my head. "I don't have time. She'll make me miss class."

"So get Malfoy to take down notes! He has to be good for something doesn't he?"

"He doesn't go," I said.

"What do you mean 'doesn't go'?" snapped Harry.

"He just doesn't go."

Harry did a double-take.

"And that's permitted? Who's thick enough not to give him detention for that?"

I shrugged. In reality, I knew Dumbledore had given him special permission to take a week in light of personal trauma, but Harry would be the last person Malfoy wanted in on his life.

"He's been doing the work on his own time lately, and I try not to question it. So far he's been keeping up just as well as me. That's all I can ask of a prat like him for now."

"Now, now, Zabini. I thought we were finally beyond insults."

Harry's eyes darkened as he looked past my shoulder, and it was no secret why.

"What are you doing up here, Malfoy?" he said with a tensed jaw.

"Oh, I was just doing a bit of after-class bonding with Zabini over here," he said, taking a step towards me despite my warning growl. "You know, sympathizing with her and laughing at her jokes, and never, _ever_ putting her down no matter how incredibly easy it is. She told me all sorts of wonderful Gryffindor tidbits. Some more-"

"What? No, I didn't!" I exclaimed.

"-intimate than others. Did you know she buys her own brooms, Potter?" he taunted, standing so close to me that the fabric of his clothes brushed the back of my hand. Every muscle in my body seemed to tense.

Harry looked from me to Malfoy, and gave a relieved laugh.

"Yeah, Malfoy, I did. And that's just a sample of the things that make her better than you."

"And you, Pottyface," he pointed out, utterly unaffected. "She showed me her Patronus, too. You know, the one that you taught her in your little underground resistance movement because you're such a good friend." Malfoy put a hand around my shoulder and looked down at me amicably. "A macaroni penguin, wasn't it?"

I'd have taken better note of how terrifyingly good he was at faking friendship, but I was a little busy having an internal meltdown at the fact that the person who once made bugs come out of my mouth now had his arm wrapped tightly around me.

"I mean, I didn't expect a jaguar out of you, Zabini, but a peng-"

Harry was the quickest of us all to draw his wand.

"Hands off, Malfoy! Now!"

Malfoy grinned wickedly and squeezed me tighter to his side.

"Say, Potter, you consider her a friend, right? You like the fact that she exists?" he asked.

Harry looked at me warily for clues. I had no choice but to shrug from underneath Malfoy's grip; I had no idea what his point was at all.

"Of course I like that she exists. What are you getting at, Malfoy? What is this?"

Malfoy dropped his arm and went suddenly back to normal.

"Then maybe, just _maybe_ , you should stop inviting her to face armed and skilled Death Eaters in battles that have nothing to do with her."

"Going to the Department of Mysteries was my own decision, Malfoy!" I spluttered. I had no idea where any of this was coming from.

"What are you talking about!" demanded Harry. They had both decided to ignore me, it seemed.

"Too stupid to get it, aren't you? She's not some common pauper you can bring around to fight your little fights. She's a member of The Sacred Twenty-Eight, and if you cretins keep this up, she'll end up right at the top of his list."

"Whose?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes.

"I'll let you figure that one out, Potter. Should only take you a decade."

"Just because Heidi's rich doesn't mean she doesn't have a right to fight on the good side of this war."

"Potter, it's fine to be a walking, talking farce, but it's really quite rude to get your good friends murdered because of it. Especially when they – rather inconveniently, if you ask me – 'trust you with their lives'. As for your opinion of your 'side'? Well that just tickles me."

"And what side are you on, Malfoy? Got yourself a mask like daddy yet?" snarled Harry.

I stiffened, making Malfoy's gaze go straight to me.

"Why don't you ask Zabini?" he suggested coolly.

Harry turned to me, frowning.

"What's he talking about?"

I stared at Malfoy, feeling the blood drain from my face.

"I don't know, Harry," I said, holding my gaze on his nemesis. "I can only assume he's going _insane._ "

"Well, you know what they say about assuming," said Malfoy smugly. "Anyway, I'm off to polish my mask, or my tattoo, or whatever. Stay holy now, Potty. You too, Collateral Damage."

"You know, I almost prefer Freakface," I called after his retreating back.

"What was that?" demanded Harry.

"The result of one too many daiquiris in September of '79," I replied, my heart finally starting to slow back to its normal pace now that he was gone. "Anyway, Harry, shall we go back to the common room? I left some books-"

"Are you two friends now or something?"

"Excuse me?"

"Why is he defending you against me all of a sudden?"

I groaned.

"Harry, ignore it, I'm begging you. We got into a stupid argument earlier, and now he's out to prove a point about you not really being my friend. It's nothing."

"That is definitely something."

"It's _nothing._ Come on, let's go downstairs."

But Harry wasn't budging.

"Why were you two up here in the first place? There's nothing on the seventh floor except the Room of … hang on … did you bring Malfoy to the Room of Requirement?"

I shook my head quickly. Harry began walking in the direction of the room with me at his tail.

"Why can't I get in?" he said after going through the necessary steps.

"What do you mean?"

"It won't open. You try."

Confusedly, I paced and thought of my need to get in. The door materialized as it always had, to my intense relief.

"See, just a fluke," I said airily, desperate to get him out of our meeting place in case Malfoy left something that could be traced back to him, like his family ring or a suitcase filled with unwelcome sarcasm.

D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D&D

"Ronald, you have got to tell your brothers to stop sending their order forms here. I already confiscated three of those jumping gummy bears."

"They're harmless!" argued Ron as he twirled one in his hand. It did a cartwheel, then promptly attempted to bite him.

"They most certainly are not harmless! Nigel had one jump up his nose earlier; Heidi even had to help him get it out. Heidi, back me up on this!"

"Er … yeah. They can really cause some damage to one's nasal … pathways …"

"Passages," Hermione hissed.

"Passages," I corrected. "Look, just tell Fred and George to sell it to the Slytherins up the hall. They'll still get the profits, and it won't be our kids that get sweets stuck up their nose."

"Fan of them this evening, aren't you? The Slytherins?" said Harry.

"I hardly think selling them biting, jumping candy in the hopes that they get it up their orifices constitutes a friendly gesture. But sure. Let's call it that."

In reality, Malfoy's words were still buried in my head, nagging away at me. Maybe he was right. Maybe I really was disposable.

"What does it matter if she is?" asked Hermione.

"Beg pardon?" cut in Ron.

"I'm just saying that we're under no obligation to hate them. In fact, the more of them we alienate, the more of them will want us dead."

"I hate to break it to you, Hermione, but the majority of them already wouldn't care if we died," said Harry.

"Trying to kill somebody and being indifferent to their death are two different things, Harry," I explained. "Trust me. I've had both."

In the back of my mind, I pictured father and son, and knew in a heartbeat which one I preferred.

"Yeah, I reckon I know a thing or two about someone being out to kill me too, Zabini," Harry said.

"Don't call me by my last name," I said quietly. "We're friends, remember?"

He mumbled an apology.

"Yes, we are friends," interjected Hermione. "And I for one think the less enemies we have, the better."

Ron shook his head.

"We're not making nice-nice, if that's what you're suggesting. When he went here, Sirius would never have even thought to-"

"Which is precisely why he was on the losing side of the First Wizarding War, Ronald. But the Sirius I knew would have extended kindness to any one of them, just as Dumbledore suggests we do each year. Maybe then they won't go running to the other side."

"Are you trying to tell me that Draco Malfoy wasn't _born_ on the other side?" exclaimed Harry.

Hermione thought about this.

"Well, maybe Malfoy was-"

"No. No he wasn't."

They all turned to me.

"I remember him a few years before Hogwarts started. He wasn't the same."

I thought of him, of the way we used to be years before anything mattered. The summers at his Manor spent running around together, getting each other into trouble so we could get each other out of trouble. It made my stomach turn for the Malfoy I knew now.

"Sorry, I just realized I left something…" I said.

I ran all the way from the dungeons to the seventh floor, where I knew he'd taken to spending his evenings. I stormed in breathlessly and walked through the towers of useless objects until I found him at a desk, surrounded by books that most definitely belonged in the restricted section.

Malfoy rotated his chair to face me, and raised his eyebrow, challenging me to say whatever it was I came to say.

"I'm getting you back by the end of the year, you mark my words," I promised him.

He rolled his eyes and picked his quill back up, clearly thinking nothing of my pledge.

"Getting me back for what, exactly? Making Potty think we're friends? There's a myriad of things I imagine you want to get me back for. You'll have to be more specific."

"I'm telling you, Malfoy. I'm going to get you back."

And I would get him back, back to the person I once knew he could be.

It was a plan inspired entirely by the feeling of being held at his side with his arm spanning the length of my shoulders.


End file.
